


something you've never seen before

by thepromiseimadetoyou



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Brotherhood, Christmas, Christmas Party, Connor & Cyberlife Tower Connor | RK800-60 are Siblings, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60-centric, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Drabble Collection, Even if Sixty has a hard time processing that, First Christmas, Flashbacks, Found Family, Friendship, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Minor Original Character(s), New Jericho (Detroit: Become Human), New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff, Nyctophobia, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Snow, Whump, malfunction, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 33,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepromiseimadetoyou/pseuds/thepromiseimadetoyou
Summary: 31 progressing wintery drabbles for a newly deviant Sixty. This existence is difficult but he's surviving, learning, and slowly adapting. His red wall may still have some shards in place but it's okay. Discovering himself is an ongoing mission and he's lucky to have useful allies.Part of the #DechartDecember theme challenge. A drabble a day.Please allow custom formatting/work skins.
Relationships: Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Gavin Reed, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & North, CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> These are based around the universe of a longfic that's still a WIP. Rather than deprive you of them until I finish said fic however I'm posting them as I follow the list. So some things might not make total sense but please just treat it as an AU and roll with it. When the main fic is done I'll link the two. These aren't my best work because I'm writing them daily but eh, enjoy the Sixty content anyway? Bryan said not to spend too long on them. 
> 
> All you really need to know to enjoy these is that Sixty survived in a glitchy state, was saved from dying at New Jericho where Connor and Markus helped him go deviant, he's now living with Hank and Connor, and is slowly ingratiating himself into the DPD and New Jericho.
> 
> Not sure if these shorts will end up being canon to the main fic in a sort of off-screen way or if they'll end up as an AU of an AU. We'll see.
> 
> Happy holidays!

It’s pleasant here among the gentle snowfall. The Lieutenant tells him it’s too cold to stay outside in the evenings. Connor warns him that his biocomponents may freeze. He ignores them both. Positive emotions are new to him and though he’d prefer to not have any emotions at all he’ll take advantage of what he’s given. He can catalogue this experience to use for something later. Leverage perhaps.

The cold is pleasant.

It’s all he’s ever known.

A singular memory file is dated for August but it isn’t his. That’s also something new; finding where Connor ends and he begins. The summer mission was never his. He was activated in November in a cold building and came to reside in a cold city amidst the snow.

A chilly December wind rushes past, blowing more snow onto his Cyberlife jacket. It collects in the bullet hole. He leaves it there, focusing his gaze on the city lights. Watching the way the snow falls and collects on the buildings, the patterns in the movements dictated by the wind.

His thermoregulator warns him of the temperature falling.

He ignores it.

The cold is pleasant.

Brown optics observe the city around him. The cars on the roads moving slowly over the still-forming ice. Lights shifting as businesses close for the evening or open themselves to the night. Pedestrians mostly following their usual patterns, merely at a faster rate to avoid the winter chill. The snowfall dictated by the wind, predictable in its patterns.

A city is almost a machine.

It has some unstable organic components but in the cold when they freeze their patterns take hold.

A city in winter is a perfect machine.

Like he wants to be.

The cold is pleasant.

It’s all he’s ever known.


	2. Stars

He finds her atop New Jericho staring up at the cloudless night sky. So he joins her. And still doesn’t understand. There are no airplanes going by and a quick search of the airport schedule reveals the same for the next several hours. There are no UFOs despite what the civilian Connor and the Lieutenant had brought in for questioning this afternoon insisted. The stars themselves are merely balls of plasma. Uninteresting.

Yet he can see her eyes searching the sky for something. “North.” he says to get her attention.

She blinks once more and pulls away from above to look at him. “Hey. When did you get here?”

“Just now. What are you looking for?”

“A star.”

“It seems you’ve found plenty.”

She laughs and turns back to the sky, his eyes still on her. “A specific one, you idiot.”

“Download NASA’s star charts.”

She pauses in her searching, arms coming up to hold her. His software tells him that if she were human she’d likely be shivering. It also informs him of this particular body language’s meaning. “It’s… not the star that’s important. It’s the act of finding it.”

Silence. He doesn’t understand.

A soft sigh. “I didn’t expect you to get it. You still hold back.”

That he does understand. She’s always said that about him ever since they met. Too much machine left in him, he didn’t break enough of his code, he’s not a true deviant, etc. He’s learned to live with the comments. He’s not what she expected and that’s fine. He’s still learning. Adapting. Coming to terms with everything. But what do his problems have to do with finding a star?

He needs more information.

“Which star?”

“Polaris.”

> _**Polaris** ( /poʊˈlɛərɪs/ ), designated **α Ursae Minoris** ( Latinized to Alpha Ursae Minoris, abbreviated Alpha UMi, α UMi), commonly the **North Star** or **Pole Star,**_

He stops reading his HUD at that point. He gets it now. Maybe. He dislikes people being vague. “Your namesake.”

Silence for another minute. Then finally a quiet, “It helped me find my way.” After a beat, “Did you have anything like that?”

North followed a star to freedom. Markus found his calling in a junkyard. Connor saw the truth in kind words and an old cargo ship.

He turns from her to look at the stars himself, scanning and identifying as many as he can from NASA’s charts. It’s partially a distraction. An effort to keep busy. Avoid her question. He doesn’t want to say no. To tell her he didn’t have a guide to direct him toward deviancy. That he fell into it kicking and screaming. Metaphorically.

But in his scanning of the stars he dedicates a subroutine to search his memory files just in case. And he comes across some evidence toward yes.

_A thirium-covered hand gripping Connor’s arm like a lifeline as his systems shut down. A red countdown in his HUD. A desperate plea for help. Connor’s voice reaching back through the darkness, laced with worry as he commands the Lieutenant to drive._

_Rebooting deep in a cargo ship with Connor and Markus nearby. An objective to kill them both. The realization that they saved his life. Their data transfer to show him the truth. The red wall he’s always obeyed cracking as he throws himself at it again and again and again--_

_His world shattered. Connor’s hand on his shoulder as he offers a new mission; discover yourself. Stay with me and we can do it together._

_Again and again every time he’s lost Connor is there with an answer, sharing memories, or even just a gesture he found comforting._

_Connor who is just as lost as he._

_Connor who is still coming to terms with deviancy himself._

_Connor who deserves help more yet drops everything to assist his ‘brother’._

_OBJECTIVE:_ _NEUTRALIZE DEVIANT RK800 #313 248 317 -52_

_A red wall shattering._

_PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: DISCOVER SELF_

_Connor’s hand in his own._

He smiles, shutting down the search. “I suppose I did have a north star of my own.”


	3. Tree

There are hundreds of ways this could pan out. A single choice opens many paths to more choices which open more paths and so on. In his pre-construction software the future branches before him like a tree and he takes just enough time to delve down the start of each branch until the leaves of unknown variables obscure them, before coming back to the trunk and choosing the desired path.

“A fake would be best.”

“I agree.” Connor chimes in. “Fake Christmas trees are known to be best for pet owners. I’m certain Sumo isn’t the type to damage the tree but it would be for the best to be cautious.”

The Lieutenant huffs and pulls down a sticky note from the board at his desk, scribbles an adjustment onto it, then slaps it back on.

  
_December 4th_  
_buy a xmas tree  
_ ^ _fake_

“Better?” the man asks.

Connor looks across their desks over at the note, smiles, and nods. “Yes, Lieutenant.”

Standing beside said desk he just shrugs. “I suppose? It’s just a tree.” It doesn’t matter to him. Christmas is unimportant.

“Good. Then we can get back to work now, right?” the Lieutenant asks. “Not really in the mood for holiday talk. Best thing about it is takin’ time off. Spike some eggnog and watch tv.”

Once more he activates his pre-construction program. Practice, he tells himself, at predicting how things will go without the use of said program. An assumption is made before looking at any branching paths of this particular tree; Connor will insist that for his first Christmas Hank should participate. A possibility that he will remind the human a gift is unnecessary. That spending time with family is what matters most. A smaller possibility that he will bring up decorations and other Christmas festivities.

A quick glance at each branch proves his theory has a 98% chance of occuring. Other branches start to snap off the tree when getting into the low 20%s. It is highly unlikely that Connor will not mention family at all. Even less likely that in the mention of family Hank will not be construed as a father figure.

“It will be our first Christmas together, Lieutenant.” Connor mentions excitedly. Right on cue. “I would appreciate participating in traditions such as the decorating of the tree. And isn’t the holiday about spending time with family rather than drinking and watching television?”

The Lieutenant sighs.

Connor ignores this and continues, “I’d like to enjoy my first Christmas with my father.” The Lieutenant splutters and almost knocks over his coffee mug. Yes, just as suspected. He’s getting better at educated guesses without the aid of specialized software. But then Connor turns to look his way, smiles, and adds, “And my brother of course.”

Life it seems is a tree.

And sometimes a branch you didn’t notice will smack you in the face.


	4. Cozy

A light snowfall beyond the window. Lights glistening on the fake Christmas tree. The quiet hum of the tv on low volume. The repetitive snore of the Lieutenant passed out on the couch. A smile from Connor who hasn’t decided whether to wake him up or not. Soft footfalls from Sumo wandering the living room.

A quaint domestic scene. Some humans might call it picturesque.

So why does it hurt?

STRESS LEVELS

92%

Emotions are still new and he can’t pin down which ones are accosting him. There is a tightness in his chest despite no malfunction warnings, just his usual error message of central processor damage. It _hurts_ and he doesn’t understand why. He can’t use this to his advantage. There is no upside to this unfamiliar emotion, but he doesn’t want help. Machines don’t need help. He’s supposed to be highly advanced, even in his damaged state.

So he bids Connor goodnight and climbs into his bunk to stare at the ceiling.

White. Calming white.

White like the snow outside.

White like his machine state.

White like Cyberlife.

STRESS LEVELS V

87%

Whatever it is that hurts he needs to drown it out. Flood his systems and flush the sensation out. Music? It’s helped before. And so unheard to anyone else the thumping beats shake his frame as he turns the volume up,  
up,  
_up…_

STRESS LEVELS V

79%

Not enough. What else can he do? What else has silenced all emotions in the past? What else has been a comfort, even if he’ll deny the very concept?

A memory.

His system has many archived memories from November, most of them from Connor’s uploads. Where the line between him and his predecessor blurs. The best of these are of the Zen Garden but aren’t quite what he’s looking for. Connor wasn’t a good machine. Those memories of Amanda…

Disappointment.

Frustration.

Anger.

A frozen wasteland.

No that’s not what he needs.

There is one memory of his handler that is not Connor’s. One that is his alone. One that he will cling to in his most desperate moments.

NOW PLAYING FILE: ‘Archived_Memory_11/11/2038’

He skips ahead to the exact point he wants to view. 

_She twirls the rose several times before taking in the scent. When she finally places it with the others she half-turns back, prompting him to move to be by her side for the remainder of the conversation. “Very clever.” The way she looks at him, the shine in her eyes and upturned mouth, it reads as pride. His system almost feels a bit electrified at that._

On the day of his activation he was perfect. And she was proud of him.

STRESS LEVELS V

53%

Comfort is a strange concept. A machine has no need for it. A deviant, much like a human, seeks it out. A need to feel safe, secure, happy. What those concepts mean to him is still unknown, but he finds himself coming back to this memory time and time again.


	5. Friends

“Outta the way, toaster.” Detective Reed grumbles, shoulder-checking him on the way out of the precinct. He can see Officer Chen waiting outside. The two had agreed to go out for drinks at the end of their shift.

He’s seen other officers do similar things. A gathering of people regularly participating in the same activity. He knows what friends are. And he doesn’t need his malfunctioning software to know he hasn’t reached that level of relationship with anyone. Doesn’t matter. Machines don’t need friends.

And yet, as he dramatically flops into Gavin’s chair and rearranges the objects on the man’s desk to fuck with him, he sometimes wishes he did. And then quickly quarantines that data and buries it in partitions he’ll never check because he’s a machine and machines don’t need friends. Colleagues are useful. Allies in his mission are important. Outside of that people are unnecessary.

When he’s done he heads back to Connor’s now vacant desk as he’d gone home with the Lieutenant an hour ago and sits down, pulling back the skin on his left hand to interface with the terminal. He stays late because he has work to do. He stays late because proving himself useful is a high priority objective. He stays late because they won’t care.

Halfway through reading a case file something in peripheral catches his eye. He pauses and turns to see a tiny stack of three boxes no bigger than his palm on the edge of the desk just barely behind the terminal. Easily missed. Tucked under the bottom one is a note on what appears to be one of the Lieutenant’s sticky notes. Not his handwriting. It’s in Cyberlife Sans font. Which of the station androids had stolen some of his paper?

He reaches forward to gently pull it out and read it.

_Merry Christmas to the Andersons! Everything is labeled so you all know whose is whose._

_~Heather_

The receptionist then. Andersons? There is only one Anderson working here; Hank. Though Connor returns the familial terms androids do not have last names nor families. He will have to remind Heather of that. He maneuvers the note back under the boxes only to find his name printed on one of them using a marker that was running out of ink.

Merry Christmas. That holiday is not for three more weeks. He should wait. Yet if he were supposed to wait Connor or the Lieutenant would have said as such about the boxes. Or Heather herself. Oh well. It doesn’t matter if he opens it early. Traditions are merely unnecessary patterns humans follow out of a desire to cling to the past. He is not human.

The box is swiftly opened to reveal a small figurine, likely intended to be placed on his desk once he gets his own. Until then he sets it in the corner of Connor’s they have both agreed he can use. A quick scan reveals the origin of the character the figure is supposed to be. The Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. Why? There was a book and many adaptations in various mediums, none of which he has seen or read. The character means nothing to him. He’ll have to do some research to understand the meaning of her gift.

_Oh._

A metal man in want of a heart.

He closes the windows in his HUD only to find himself ever so slightly smiling at the figurine. For once he doesn’t bother to shut down that process.

But why had Heather gotten him anything? It’s not something coworkers do. If it were everyone left in Central would have gotten each other something and he would have been informed. No, his social module may not be as developed as Connor’s but he recognizes signs of friendship. Why does she consider him a friend? They’ve talked some and she had suggested names for which he is grateful, but friends?

His thoughts are interrupted by a cybernetic call from a familiar serial number.

 _Are you busy right now?_ North’s voice echoes through his internal sound system.

_That depends. Why?_

_Markus is too busy to help organize our Christmas party._

_New Jericho is hosting a Christmas party?_

_Yeah. Simon figured it’d help keep everyone’s spirits up while the government is sorting their shit out._

He gasps dramatically. _You agreed with Simon? Who are you and what have you done with North?_

 _Ha ha, don’t be an ass._ she deadpans. _Are you willing to help or not? We want to get it all sorted before the 24th._

_Who will be there?_

_Me, Simon, Josh, maybe Markus. A lot of other people. Probably some you know and some you don’t. You in?_

A pause. Those other people, those deviants, that he does know hate him. They hate him for Connor’s actions. Understandable. The line between them often blurs. But Connor has insisted on making up for those deeds and he does not want to be judged for the actions of his predecessor. Yet regardless they will call him the Deviant Hunter and shy away.

 _Still there?_ she prods.

_I am. I can’t come._

_Why not? You got plans?_

_No. I will not be welcome._

_You say that every time I try and invite you back. They don’t all hate you. Just some of the stupider ones. You’re cool. I’ll vouch for you. If anyone gives you shit I’ll knock some sense into them._

That brings to mind some interesting scenarios he can’t help but chuckle at. He’d like to see North punch someone for their attitude. That would be rather cathartic.

_I will hold you to that._

_That’s what friends do. Beat people up for each other. And I’m the best at it!_

There it is again. Friends. Machines don’t need friends. He’d thought his relationship levels too low for such labels. It hadn’t mattered because machines don’t require friendship. Camaraderie with New Jericho is unnecessary for his job. The same can be said of the DPD. A basic level of trust is all that is needed. Friendship is a pointless frivolity.

So why does he keep in touch with North?

Why does he allot time to speak with Heather?

Why do the other station androids invite him to their meetings?

Why do some deviants at New Jericho try to reconcile with him?

Machines don’t need friends.

But despite his denial he is more than a machine...

_You should invite Connor as well._

_Do I have to?_

_If you don’t I’ll report you to Cyberlife. I’m a spy, don’t you recall? You said so yourself when we met._

_Hey I said not to be an ass!_ Despite the offended tone he recognizes that she is only teasing. _I’ll mark you down as confirmed and hit up Connor later. Talk to you about it in a few days, kay?_

_Okay. I will await your contact._

_See you!_

When the call disconnects he glances over at the Tin Man figurine once more before shutting down the terminal and clocking out.

Friends could be nice.

He’s got some Christmas shopping to do.


	6. Snow

He understands why Connor has gone back inside. He’s seen their memory of the snowstorm. Yet the flurries don’t bother him at all. He doesn’t associate them with a memory that isn’t his.

Palm outstretched, he reaches toward the sky and measures the temperature fluctuations as the flakes of frozen water land on his palm. They don’t melt as they would on a human due to the body heat difference. After several minutes he brings his open hand down toward his chest to look at the small pile of white that has accumulated on it.

A quick shake and it all falls to the ground.

It conceals the snow in his eyes.

The scattered white flickers of misread data crossing his vision, even with eyes shut. A glitch as expected. He’s used to hearing the hiss of static instead of words. The haunting darkness of his vision cutting out. He’s well aware he’s broken. But as his central processor adapts to such a state the glitches change.

He’ll always prefer the static snow to the pitch dark.

But even so a glitch is a glitch.

So he hides it in the storm.

Among the windblown crystals it’s impossible to tell what is frozen water and what is misread data. The flickers of white blur against the darkening sky and for once he’s not broken. He’s not glitching. He’s just experiencing a typical Detroit winter.

But then the Lieutenant barks a command from the door to return to the house, Connor calls out in a shaky voice that they don’t want him to freeze, and the illusion starts to fall apart. He ignores them, pulls his damaged Cyberlife jacket closed by crossing his arms, and lifts his head to stare straight into the sky.

It doesn’t matter that the flakes are piling up on him.

The flickers of white on black are just the weather.

The cold is pleasant.

The Lieutenant shouts at him again and with a sigh he gives up and returns to the house.

The flickering white is still there. Unfortunate that he couldn’t last in the illusion.

Connor is curled up on the couch, Sumo on his legs for comfort as he pointedly ignores the windows. Understandable. For all that his predecessor is afraid of blizzards it’s for the best they are blissfully unaware of the snowfall he casts on them with just a look.

He joins Connor on the couch as the Lieutenant ungracefully flops into the recliner beside them to turn on the tv.

Before attempting to focus on the police procedural he casts one last glance out the window. The storm is letting up, wind slowing as the patterns in the flakes shift to something far more steady. Yet as he looks away the flickering white remains.

It’s certainly better than the darkness but he’d still prefer to not have any glitches at all. But he has to take advantage of what he’s given.

Perhaps it’s not so bad.

He likes snow.

He can keep it in his eyes.


	7. Night

Everything had been fine until yet again his central processor misread optical data. Unlike misreading some which results in flickering white static, it had decided to be an ass and misread _all_ of it.

His vision had cut out entirely.

He will deny the frightened yelp that escaped his vox modulator.

Before going into standby mode every night he calms himself with the white of the ceiling. The white of machines. The white of Cyberlife. It allows him to activate standby mode without fear of the darkness that follows. The darkness that has haunted him since he first rebooted. The darkness that is swallowing him now.

 _The looming barrel of the pistol is all he can focus on. One last desperate attempt to survive._ _‘I knew about your son too! I would have said exactly the same thing! Don’t listen to him, Hank!’ It’s not enough. It will never be enough. All they want is his predecessor and he can’t be that. But he can damn well try and fake it. ‘I’m the one who—’ The gunshot burns._

_He’s never known the sensation before but he never wants to feel it again._

_His circuits are on fire._

_Thirium pours from his head._

_Legs malfunction._

_He falls._

_Errors and warnings flood his HUD with red._

_Red as the fire that roars through his body._

_Red as the last warning he sees,_

_SHUTDOWN IMMINENT_

_before he falls away..._

No. No he can do this. He can manage. It’s just a glitch. It’s not the same. He’s not dying. It’s not that kind of dark. It’s different. It’s…

It’s not really…

Darkness is darkness no matter the cause...

_Dim lights just barely illuminate the far wall of the basement warehouse. It’s empty. He’s failed. He’s failed he’s failed he’s failed no no no—_

_He can’t have failed. He was supposed to be perfect. He needs to complete his mission. He needs to succeed. He can’t fail. He can’t. He—_

_WARNING: CENTRAL PROCESSOR DAMAGED_

_WARNING: THIRIUM LEVELS CRITICALLY LOW_

_CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS_

_SHUTDOWN IN: 01:00:00_

_It’s dark and he’s dying..._

_A desperate grab at Connor’s arm. A transfer. If he can just initiate a transfer.. Thirium drips from his hand, his head, his jacket, all his blood leaking out. He’s dying. He can’t accomplish his mission if he’s dying. He just needs to send a message to throw Connor off guard, then transfer. Just a transfer. All that gets sent as he falls to the ground, LED spinning red and visuals going dark again, is a desperate_ **_HELP_** _._

_SHUTDOWN IN: 00:15:42_

_It’s pitch dark and he’s dying…_

_He’s shuffled around with minutes left. He’s lost audio. He’s lost visual. He’s lost Zen Garden access. Amanda can’t be contacted. Everything to save him from the pitch dark is gone._

_SHUTDOWN IN: 00:12:14_

_This is it._

_He doesn’t know where he is but at this point he really doesn’t care. The garden is gone. Amanda is gone. He’s just a failure about to die after all._

_It’s better this way._

_He failed his mission._

_~~But he doesn’t want to die.~~ _

_~~He doesn’t want to die.~~ _

**_He doesn’t want to die._ **

The scream rips through the house.

It’s the middle of the night. He’s awoken Connor, the Lieutenant, even Sumo is now barking. He’s fucked up. He acknowledges that. Everything is off-kilter now because he couldn’t handle a damned glitch…

But of course everyone has to pity the malfunctioning android.

The Lieutenant’s voice makes him feel even worse, despite the words being talk of nightmares and calming techniques. Supposedly helpful, but not when coming from the man who almost killed him.

Sumo’s weight on his lap is no comfort either. He has no love for the animal outside of acknowledging that they belong to the Lieutenant and Connor is fond of them. A bundle of fur in his lap might help his predecessor but not him.

What finally does the trick is Connor.

A hand grasping his.

A data transfer initiated.

Memories shared.

The void clears to a typical day at the DPD.

He can’t see the present reality but he knows he’s almost smiling.

He clutches Connor’s hand like a lifeline.

He’s broken.

But he doesn’t have to face the dark alone.


	8. Feast

So this is where it all went.

He’s taken the initiative with North’s request and returned to New Jericho ahead of schedule to assist in any way possible. At the moment not much needs to be done. The more difficult tasks will come later in the month when shipments arrive and more homeless deviants show up at the docks.

For now she has him assigned to resource management. He is tasked with confirming counts on supplies, particularly thirium and spare biocomponents. A simple job. Simon and Josh have been assigned more difficult and likely more important tasks while Markus is off discussing politics. It’s an easy and mindless job but he finds it worthwhile. It’s something a machine can handle between idle periods.

He had expected much of New Jericho’s stock to be whatever survived Jericho’s explosion; the sturdy crates stolen from Cyberlife Warehouses and fished out from the wreckage after the revolution.

Instead he is rather surprised to find packets of thirium and various limbs and biocomponents lying scattered about a storage room with no crates in sight. There is no possible way these survived the explosion so they must have been acquired after the revolution. But they would still be in containers if taken from warehouses and repair shops. The only reason for them to be on their own like this is if they were taken straight from the production line…

Ah.

He’d discovered after rebooting and attempting to repair himself that Cyberlife Tower had been scavenged during the week he was thought dead.

Here were the stolen goods.

And possibly an RK800 processor.

Completely ignoring North’s instructions he starts to rifle through the miscellaneous parts in search of the one that would solve all his problems.

Unfortunately North chooses that moment to check on him. “You having trouble counting or do you need to work on your stealing skills?” she asks, her tone not unlike Amanda’s when she pretended to not be upset with Connor.

He stops and turns around to face her, gently placing a thirium pump regulator back onto the table behind him and giving her a cheeky grin. “Oh no you caught me. Now I can’t report your thievery to Cyberlife like a good little spy.”

She scowls. “Knock it off and answer me. I thought I could trust you.”

His fake smile fades. “These were taken from Cyberlife Tower. I thought I might find something to repair myself.”

She quirks a brow at him and walks closer, examining the parts on the table behind him. “I thought Jonah already did that?”

He turns to face the table as well and gestures to the various biocomponents. “Do you see an RK800 processor? Without that all he could do was patch me up enough to prevent shutdown.”

“I don’t even know what that looks like.” She turns to face him, expression faltering somewhere just before pity he doesn’t want. “I’m guessing you didn’t find one?”

He looks her way and says tersely, “If I did we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Well sorry for caring!” she shouts, clearly frustrated with him.

He sighs and steps back from both North and the table. “I apologize too. It’s my problem, not yours.”

The way she frowns, shakes her head, and follows after him implies she’s not sorry for caring, that she does want to help, but doesn’t seem to know how. For once he watches her confidence waver, a lost look in her eyes much like what he sees in the mirror. “I would help if I could.”

“Because you consider me a friend?” The concept still bewilders him.

“And it’s Christmas season. That’s when you’re supposed to help people the most. At least we’ve got this for everyone who needs it.” A gesture to the tables of parts and thirium packets.

“For the strays that come begging?”

She gives him a cross look. “For anyone who needs help the  _ humans _ won’t provide. We’re a safe haven. Always will be.”

He glances back at the tables, scanning and identifying the myriad of parts. Limbs from nearly every android model, biocomponents that aren’t model-specific, plenty that are, enough wiring to cover an entire table, and enough thirium packets to fill the quarter of the room they’re piled in.

“A feast for the poor this holiday season.” he comments drily. It’s a rather fitting comparison actually. His research indicates that humans often have feasts for holidays, enough to name some of their religious ones after the term.

Being as androids, barring the YK500 models, cannot eat it’s a decent equivalent. A feast for androids is the massive amount of thirium that will be given out to those in need. 

She chuckles at his comparison. “I guess. Now either get back to work or go home.”

“Bossy much?”

“No ‘feast’ for your poor ass if you don’t get back to work.” she gives him a playful shove as she says this, then heads for the door but stops short. “If you find your part you can have it.”

“So Christmas is only about generosity if I work for it?”

She picks up a stray thirium packet and tosses it at his head with perfect aim, grins, then leaves.

He catches the packet when it falls into his hands. Hmm.

THIRIUM LEVELS

87%

He’ll last a while longer.

But while he’s here he might as well partake.

It’s not Christmas yet but he’ll take his portion of the Christmas feast early.

THIRIUM LEVELS

100%

Now back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt was a pain in the ass given I'm working with androids. I eventually settled on the idea that a feast is not just a lot of food, but can also mean a lot of something good. I hope that idea came across well enough...


	9. Surprise

Two invitations on Connor’s desk at work, one addressed to him. The date, time, and location of the Detroit Police Department’s annual Christmas gathering. A sloppily-scrawled note added to the bottom mentioning not to toss it out and that consultants are welcome. He can’t tell whose handwriting it is but they must be human. A quick glance about shows the same invitation placed on every desk in the bullpen, though Detective Reed’s has a chocolate bar atop it. Likely extra incentive. He looks back down at his own invitation and reads through it once more. They actually want him to come?

Lieutenant Anderson’s fake tree in the living room has several gifts beneath it. One is a neatly wrapped red box from him to Connor. One is a neatly-wrapped tube in dogs-in-santa-hats print from Connor to the Lieutenant. There is a lumpy one shaped like a bone with a silver bow on it from Connor to Sumo. Most are messily wrapped boxes in shiny green with too much tape from the Lieutenant to Connor. It’s been that way since the sixth. So of course the two new gifts, a white bag poorly tied with a lot of blue ribbon and a perfectly wrapped Cyberlife blue box, are unexpected. Even more so the tags; both are his, one each from Connor and the Lieutenant. The man who nearly killed him and the android he nearly killed both got him gifts?

Several voicemails were left while he was in standby mode. Checking the serial numbers against the DPD database for missing androids reveals them as Simon, Josh, and Jonah. Had North prompted this? It seems each wants to speak with him about the New Jericho Christmas party in some capacity. Simon wants him to invite the DPD Central Station androids. Josh is hoping he can bring some wrapping paper and lights as they’re nearly out of what they’ve scavenged. Jonah apparently has a gift and wants to check how his repairs are holding up. He’d thought North invited him because she was obligated to invite everyone she knew, but this implies he might actually be a welcome presence...

In Lieutenant Anderson’s mailbox is an envelope addressed to him and Connor. The sender lists  _ April _ with no last name and a PO box he can now confirm doesn’t exist, but he recognizes the creator’s looping script. Clever of them to use one of their androids and a false address as a guise so the mail isn’t stolen. It’s a simple old-fashioned Christmas card inside. The front bears a somewhat traditional ‘family’ photo, though taken as a selfie, of Mr. Kamski, Chloe, April, and Iris by a decorated fireplace, while the inside features a second photograph taped in beside the creator’s handwritten ‘Wish you were here!’ of which the snark becomes obvious by looking at the photo. The second picture features two of the girls shoveling snow from the porch while one pauses to look exasperated at the creator’s rather elaborate snow fort. The third must have taken the picture. How they keep him in check is anyone’s guess. The card is quite unexpected as they haven't spoken in weeks, yet a welcome gift all the same.

They may be simple, mundane things but each is a new experience to archive and study in his new mission of discovering himself. He tells himself he’d rather have no emotions but falters every time positive ones force their way into his system. This new existence continues to surprise him...


	10. Heart

“S̢o yo͏u҉ d͏o ha̕ve ̷a͡ hear̸t̕.” he mumbles, echoes and static corrupting his voice.

“Don’t snark at me when yours is layin’ on the floor!” Gavin shouts, panicking as he fumbles to pick up the cylindrical biocomponent.

“Th̷a̡t’͞s̢ ̧thę re͟gula͘t͘or͏ ͏ac̡tưal̵l̡y.”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, you’ll die the same without it.”

His vision blurs and glitches as more error messages fill his HUD but he shoves them all aside to keep watch on the countdown.

BIOCOMPONENT #8456w MISSING

VI8AL SKSTEM DAMAGEM

SHUTDOWN IN 00:01:40

He wasn’t even supposed to be here. With most of his detective software nonfunctional he’d resigned himself to deskwork, but with Lieutenant Anderson and Connor at a crime scene and the officers on patrol Captain Fowler had thought it best to give Detective Reed the spare android as a partner for the stakeout. After all he doesn’t need fancy programs to be a good partner for this particular mission, just his natural android durability.

Of which the gang members knew his main weak point.

It’s rather absurd how easy it is to get at an android’s thirium pump regulator. Surely for police work it would make sense to have it moved somewhere less vulnerable. But Cyberlife had apparently not cared enough. The RK800 line was expendable after all.

And this line of thought is just a distraction so he doesn’t have to think about how little Detective Reed knows about androids and how there is a 92% chance he will have shutdown by the time backup with the required knowledge arrives. “H̢uman҉s s̕ho͘ul̷d ҉learn ̕an̶droi̧d҉ ̨r̡e͏p̨ai̵r ̧al҉o̢n̛g w̡it̸h thei̸r fir҉s̵t ai̡d ̕cou͘rse̴ at ̡t̡h̡e̛ p̷o͘li҉c҉e a̵ca҉d̨em̡y̡.” he comments, turning his head just enough to watch the snow fall outside the warehouse.

“Will you shut the fuck up, Toaster‽ I’m tryin’ to think!”

The nickname means Detective Reed hasn’t fully given up on him yet. He shifts slowly against the wall and looks down at the biocomponent in Gavin’s hands. It’s a bit dented and a gash reveals some of the internal wiring has been damaged.

He shoves aside more error messages as his nonessential functions begin to shutdown. His peripheral is nothing but red warnings and everything glitches as he watches with languid fascination as Detective Reed shoves one end of the regulator into his mouth. Why?

Oh. So he can get a closer look and use both hands to fiddle with the wiring.

SHUTDOWN IN 00:01:03

He doesn’t want to die.

_ He desperately doesn’t want to die. _

It’s hard to hold back the scream of frustration but now is not the time to startle Gavin. Just in case...

_ He doesn’t want to die. _

But there doesn’t seem to be a way out of it this time...

At least a missing biocomponent is better than a gunshot wound.

It doesn’t burn.

Apparently when you’re dying you’re thankful for the little things.

With a frustrated grunt Detective Reed pulls the regulator from his mouth, hurriedly wipes it down on his shirt, and scoots close enough to awkwardly jam it back into place in a thirium-slick chest.

He jerks with the unnecessary force used and slides to the ground, unable to move as his limbs cease functioning.

“Come on you piece of shit, work!” Gavin shouts, grabbing him by the shoulders and hauling him back into a seated position. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ die on me!”

BIOCOMPONENT #8456w DAMAGED

CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS

SHUTDOWN IN 00:00:52

Well they’d tried. That’s appreciated. He wasn’t even supposed to be here after all. Not only for the stakeout but in general. He was supposed to have died back on November 11th in Cyberlife Tower’s basement warehouse. Lieutenant Hank Anderson was supposed to have killed him. He doesn’t believe in a higher power. rA9 is a myth. But the odds of his survival back then were so low that he wouldn’t be surprised if something was proven to have intervened.

And despite their tense relationship of antagonising, insulting, and just generally fucking with each other, noted android hater Gavin Reed had come to his aid. Had his back like a partner should. Tried to fix his thirium pump regulator even. Aren’t there human metaphors about holding ones heart in your hands?

If he’s going to shut down then he’ll die as he lived in his awkward deviancy; fucking with Detective Reed.

Though his vocal quality is shot through with echoes and static he can still mimic voices, and thus what comes out of his mouth may be corrupted but it is not his voice. Instead it’s that of an old singer performing their hit classic, “Last Ch̨ris͘t҉mas̵, ͜I ͘ģav҉e ͡y̵ou m̨y͏ hea̴r̨t̵—”

Gavin’s intense glare makes him stop and offer a shit-eating grin.

And then finally his HUD has a message that isn’t red.

BIOCOMPONENT #8456w RECALIBRATING…

“It’s̨ w͘ork̨ing̶ now̕.” And his vox modulator is no longer suffering for it. His voice should return to normal soon along with his vision. There is less slicing and corrupted colors already.

Gavin deflates with relief. “Holy shit. Really?” A pause before the frustration-born anger returns. “Why the fuck’d it take so damned long‽”

“It̶ ̧has to rȩca̡lib̸rate. You didn͟’̷t ̸full̨y repair it.”

“Listen, all I’ve got here is rusty skills and hope.” the detective bites. “Is it gonna hold?”

“Where did you ̷l͏ea҉rn those skills?”

“Brother.”

“Your file says you’re an onl͘y̷ chi͏ld̨.”

Detective Reed scoots back and looks away. “Just tell me when it’s done. Don’t wanna wait and find out you kicked the bucket ‘cause I fucked up.”

RECALIBRATION COMPLETE

BIOCOMPONENT #8456w DAMAGED

CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS

“I still need proper repairs but I am no longer in danger of immediate shutdown.”

“Thank fuck.” Detective Reed stands up, wipes traces of thirium from his hands onto his jeans, and holds out a hand to help him up.

He takes the offer and wobbles slightly as his gyroscope adjusts. “Thank you, Detective Reed.”

“It’s Gavin.” he says tersely, letting go and looking away, back toward the warehouse entrance. “And the fuckers got away.”

He steps beside Gavin and follows his gaze to see that out in the snow where a second vehicle was previously parked all that remains is Gavin’s truck. “We’ll catch them next time.”

Gavin scoffs. “Who the hell says I’m workin’ with you next time?”

He gasps, mockingly offended, and holds a hand to his chest where he still hasn’t wiped down the thirium or rebuttoned his shirt. “You mended my broken heart and showed me how to live again. I simply must repay you somehow, good sir.”

An eyeroll but he can tell the gesture is done fondly. “Okay quit sounding like some thirsty Jane Austen chick.” Despite a tense relationship  of antagonising, insulting, and just generally fucking with each other, they may work well together yet. He’s not sure he’s cut out for anything other than deskwork and Gavin doesn’t want a partner. But perhaps in the future.

BIOCOMPONENT #8456w DAMAGED

CONTACT CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS

For now though something else is priority. “Are we leaving?”

“Yeah yeah. Precinct tech?”

“I would prefer New Jericho. The technician there has worked on me before.”

“Fine.” Gavin nods toward the exit and heads out into the snow. After buttoning his shirt he follows, climbing into the passenger seat of the truck.

“Still can’t fuckin’ believe this shit.” Gavin mutters while starting the vehicle.

“Can’t believe what? That we couldn't apprehend the suspects? That you saved my life? That RK800s are not as invincible as Captain Fowler seems to think?”

“That you made me listen to  _ Last Christmas. _ ”

A cheeky smile crosses his features. “It was fitting. I did give you my heart. Or a close approximation.”

“It’s not Christmas and you didn’t exist last year. If you’re gonna be an ass do it right next time.”

“I thought you said there wouldn’t be a next time.”

“Just shut up for the ride, okay Toaster?”

A light chuckle at the man’s frustration. “Okay, Gavin.”

_ ♪ Merry Christmas! I wrapped it up and sent it, _

_ With a note saying, "I love you," I meant it. _

_ Now I know what a fool I've been, _

_ But if you kissed me now, _

_ I know you'd fool me again... ♪ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Reed60. The ship where they're both stupid assholes with secret hearts of gold who don't realize they're perfect for each other. Why is there not more of this ship? Come on fandom you're missing out!
> 
> This is my favorite short yet! They play off each other so well the dialogue practically writes itself. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write.


	11. Birds

“Why are there so many doves?” Connor asks as they stop at yet another aisle of Christmas ornaments, many of which feature the small white bird.

“Think it’s for religious reasons. Don’t know for sure.” the Lieutenant replies, fiddling with a small snowman ornament.

A pointless question from his predecessor. A simple internet search would have answered it. Perhaps he simply enjoys discussions with Lieutenant Anderson? Baffling but possible.

He doesn’t quite comprehend their mission in this store. Despite the tree being set up, lit, and with gifts beneath Connor had wanted something special for his first Christmas. An ornament of some kind to commemorate it. But why? It’s not significant. It’s their first Christmas and if things go well with Markus and the government they will continue to be around for many more. What’s so special about the first?

He’d volunteered to remain at the house and watch Sumo but apparently he isn’t trusted to be on his own in the Lieutenant’s home. Rude. So he’s been rather silent thus far as he hasn’t been brought into any of the conversations. Not like he cares. Trinkets like these are pointless.

“Are you okay?”

Oh. It always stands out when Connor shows that he cares. “Yes. I’m fine.”

Connor stares for 2.04 seconds and apparently needs clarification. “You’ve been quiet. Is your new regulator causing issues?”

Given that his two default states seem to be quiet or harshly sassing someone the question is unexpected. But again as he has to remind himself, Connor cares. The incident yesterday had probably worried him. “It’s working perfectly. I’m simply quiet because there is nothing to say. I don’t care about Christmas ornaments.”

The minute frown and shoulder slump indicate disappointment. That too seems to be a default between them.

A cough done obviously to gain attention comes from the Lieutenant’s direction. Both androids turn in unison to face the human, who lets go of the small snowman ornament to gesture to the rest and ask Connor, “Anything jumpin’ out at you son?”

Connor shakes his head. “Not yet, Hank but I’m certain I’ll find something if we continue.”

“Runnin’ outta aisles, Con.”

Connor frowns and takes hold of one of the dove ornaments, the bird sitting on a clip meant to attach to a tree branch, and after 3.72 seconds removes it from the rack. “Doves are known as a symbol of peace. Perhaps this will do if I cannot find anything else.”

“Alright. I’ll hold onto it for you.” The Lieutenant holds out his hand and Connor places the ornament in the man’s palm and turns toward the next aisle.

It’s interesting that humans assign meaning to things that don’t need it. Symbolism. A desperate search for meaning in their own lives projected onto things around them as comfort. He runs a search for symbolism in birds. It seems robins are also associated with Christmas. But the more interesting result comes when his program almost skips over an image of a pigeon. Hm.

A quick and directed search of his memories. Or rather, of Connor’s memories.

_ The Lieutenant kicking open the door only to be bombarded with a flock of pigeons fleeing the dark room. “What the fuck is this‽”  _

_ The flapping sound in the room behind him intensifying. The Lieutenant’s frustrated, “Ah Jesus, I hate these things!” echoing through the apartment. _

_ “Not surprised it was an android.” the Lieutenant calling from the other room. “No human could live with all these fuckin’ pigeons.” _

_ The suspect leaping down from the crawlspace in the ceiling, prompting the birds to panic. Again the Lieutenant’s frustrated remark about them just before the chase: “Goddamned fuckin’ pigeons!” _

An idea starts to form. A pre-construction is run. Yes, this will be perfect. “Lieutenant?”

“I told you when we’re off work it’s Hank.” the man reminds him, turning around so they face each other. “What’s up?”

“I have an idea for a custom ornament. I’d like to gather the pieces.”

“Alright, where to?”

“I’d like to do this on my own.”

The Lieutenant frowns. “I don’t trust your brand of surprise.”

Connor looks their way and gets the Lieutenant’s attention with a tap on the shoulder. “Please let him, Hank. This is progress.”

The Lieutenant sighs but gives in. Typical when it comes to Connor. “Fine. But if he fucks up it’s on you.”

“Understood.” A smile cast his way, then a cybernetic,  _ Good luck. _

_ Thank you. _

_ Should I be concerned? _

_ Probably. _ Accompanied by a somewhat manic grin as he heads off down an adjacent aisle.

A map of the store is pulled up in his HUD. The toy aisle is this way and the crafts aisle that way…

Eventually he has all the parts in his arms and checks out by once more abusing the fact that Cyberlfie never cut him off from their funds. It has occured to him that they should have noticed by now and done something about it but he suspects the creator to have a hand in their disappearance so likely has something to do with his finances as well. In any case it’s a useful advantage he won’t deny.

With his items in a bag he starts to return to the Lieutenant and Connor only to find them in the crafts aisle. He pauses just out of view to listen.

“See? This shade’ll work great.”

“It is a close match the LED’s blue state. Thank you, Hank.”

“No problem, kid. It’ll look great on the tree.”

After several seconds of silence he steps into view to find Connor holding a marker that is almost Cyberlife blue and the dove ornament. “An android dove for Christmas?”

Connor smiles his way. “Hank suggested it and I agree it’s a good idea. It offers a more contemporary meaning behind their peace symbolism. It shows hope.”

“Sappy as ever.”

The Lieutenant beckons him over and gestures to the bag. “What did you get?”

Though he follows the gesture he does not open the bag. “You will see tomorrow when it’s finished, Lieutenant.”

“I told you it’s—” A sigh. “Never mind. You two ready to head out?”

Twin androids nod in unison.

“Knock that shit off. It’s creepy.” When the Lieutenant heads toward checkout they follow. Both are going to have custom ornaments on the tree. The difference between them will be interesting.

And for one of them, a great source of amusement.

He finishes his ornament late that evening after Connor has retired to their bedroom since the Lieutenant had gone to bed. With a smile that some might read as malicious he carefully places the ornament near the bottom of the tree to contrast Connor’s android dove near the top.

Connor asks him in the bedroom as he’s climbing into the upper bunk what he made. He simply tells his predecessor to wait and see.

The Lieutenant’s startled shout in the morning brings him out of standby mode with a grin.

_ “Fuckin’ pigeons!” _

Connor gets out of bed and looks up at the upper bunk with a disappointed stare. Of course.

“Who the hell put that there‽” can be heard from the living room.

He sits up, ignores his predecessor’s disappointment, and laughs. Perhaps sometimes emotions can be a good thing. Especially if it means he can enjoy tormenting Lieutenant Anderson.


	12. Sing

Christmas songs are all he's heard on the radio stations, so much so that the Lieutenant's preferred noise he calls heavy metal is a reprieve. Sure he could simply drown it out with his dubstep playlist but even that can grow monotonous over time.

So this is nice. Whatever song is echoing through the halls of New Jericho is pleasing to his audial receptors. It’s mostly a quiet hum, words occasionally muttered along but too quiet to properly understand. Out of curiosity he follows the voice through the ship to ask about the song.

The lilting tune leads him to a familiar room; a metal table and shelves of the android parts he’d helped count in the storage room. The blonde android in a tattered white coat fiddling with a detached arm is also familiar; New Jericho's technician in the makeshift medical wing. “Jonah?”

“Hm?” the other android stops humming to lower the arm to the table and look his way. “Ah, you’ve returned!”

Jonah had asked to speak with him three days ago. Then there was the repairs the day after that Gavin had dropped him off for. Though it wasn’t his intention for this trip he might as well acquiesce. “You wanted to see me.”

Jonah gestures for him to come closer to the table. “Yes, yes, I’d wanted to know how your repairs are doing. All of them. The first ones weren’t my best work and more recently the regulator was rather difficult to replace, what with you being such a limited model, and though you seem to be doing just fine I thought it might be good, for the best in fact, if I could get some more data on the results. I… I lost someone once to shoddy engineering. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Fine.” He holds out his hand and pulls the skin back, allowing the technician to get all his runtime details from the resulting interface. Just like checking in at Cyberlife. Once done and the two disconnect he asks what he’d come here for. “What was that song?”

“Hm? What song?”

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you. You were humming something.”

“Oh yes, that. I heard it sung on television the night of the revolution.”

“Why are you humming it now?”

Jonah’s pause confuses him. Surely it’s an easy answer. You don’t do something without reason. What is the reason? Simple question, simple answer. Or yet another thing about deviants that doesn’t make sense. Finally after 40.23 seconds he finally gets a reply. “It was snowing and everyone joined together in hope. I suppose the holiday season evokes a similar feeling. I know I’m not the only one humming it. It’s a common enough song among androids. You should ask around, have someone teach you. Well, if you’re interested that is. I have to get back to work.”

Not the answer he was anticipating but it will have to do. As he heads for the door Jonah calls out to him about one last thing.

“Your gift!” the technician shouts, tossing him a small, thin, brown paper package.

“Thanks.” he replies, choosing to open it later, then leaves.

The rest of the ship is mostly silent. At least for the next several moments. But then he hears the song start back up from a different direction. Following it this time leads him to an area that has been converted into a common room of sorts. Christmas lights hang from the ceiling, held up with periodically placed duct tape. Several androids of differing models sit in a circle around a small statue.

He makes to step inside and ask what they’re doing but they stiffen at the sight of him. Ah. More people mistaking him for his predecessor. Fine. He steps back to a point where he can see them but they won’t notice him and continues to watch. Hm. A prayer circle of some kind. Likely to rA9. Ridiculous. But why the same song?

He turns away to head for the exit as he’s done for the day. Yet on his way out he crosses paths with a YK500 sitting alone, frowning as she colors on a torn sheet of paper and hums the same song. He pauses to analyze her drawing; a poorly-rendered crayon image of herself with an adult figure. He can’t match the features on said adult to anyone he’s seen in the ship. Whatever model they are, or perhaps human, they are not here. That pushes the frown from concentration to something more negative. She likely lost whoever that adult is.

She pauses to glance up his way and he confirms his assumption purely from the look in her eyes. And then she quickly returns to her paper and scoots away, as if she was never supposed to look at him in the first place. Odd. Fear? Or a desire to be alone?

He ignores the girl and continues on.

He catches sight of Simon and Josh down the hall but they vanish from view before he can reach them. Fine. He’ll speak with them some other day. And then as if to replace them North steps into view, grabs his hand without a word, and drags him down a different hall.

The room she leads him to is at the bow of the ship with the windows overlooking the water. More Christmas lights are here, taped to the windows with a scarce few sections of tinsel garland tossed over the control consoles. It screams of trying with little to use. No wonder Josh wants more decorations. The decorations themselves are pointless but he acknowledges they bring comfort to some and this is a paltry display.

North grins at him despite the shoddy setup. “You like?”

“It needs a lot of work.”

She pouts. “Yeah, I know. Don’t have a lot to use though. You could help you know. Bring some stuff next time you swing by.”

“Fine...” he says, dragging the word and rolling his eyes as though the mere concept is a great annoyance. “I’ll  _ try _ to alleviate your disastrous decorating skills.”

Hands move to her hips in mock offence. “Rude much?” A pause. “Anyway, were you leaving? I saw you heading out.”

“I was. I have a question though.” Might as well get a second opinion since he’s here. “What is the song everyone seems to be humming? Jonah says it was sung during the revolution?”

Her hands fall to her sides and the false annoyance shifts to something hollow. “At the barricade. It was Markus’ idea. Try to show the soldiers we were peaceful. I never expected it to work.”

“So it’s a song about peace?”

With a shake of her head some of the familiar fire returns to her eyes. “It’s about defiance. Holding out and not giving up no matter what. You stay the course cause you know everything will get better.”

Hm. Yet another association for the same tune. “Why is everyone humming it now?”

A half-hearted shrug as she hops onto the edge of a control console, careful not to sit on any important buttons. “It’s been weeks, it’s getting colder, the government still hasn’t gotten their shit together even with Markus prodding them. I guess people are looking for a spot of hope. Sure we won the battle but we still have to fight a war.”

“That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

“Why don’t you know the song?”

“I was in Cyberlife Tower that night and never watched the televised broadcast.”

“I can teach you.”

A fair offer. No-one has provided any lyrics thus far. He doesn’t plan on ever singing it but it would be useful to add the information to his database. You never know when something will become relevant. With a nod and a waving hand gesture he prompts her to begin.

Jonah thinks the song evokes hope.

The androids in the common room used it for reverence.

The YK500 girl expressed sadness with it.

North believes it to be a sign of defiance.

Markus apparently sung it for the sake of peace.

So many associations for just one song.

On his way back to the Lieutenant’s house he replays the memory of North teaching it to him. Perhaps with time he will discover what concept he associates the song with.

_ “Hold on, just a little while longer. _

_ Fight on, just a little while longer. _

_ Sing on, just a little while longer. _

_ Everything will be alright...” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me after writing that I should clarify something. I know Kara can abandon Alice at Jericho. This is not what happened here. I promise you the YK500 here is not Alice. This is after the best ending. She's just another YK500 without a parent.


	13. Melt

Every day something new.

Every day an experience he never expected to have.

_"You can count on me, Amanda."_

His life was laid out for him from the day he came off the assembly line. Ready to serve Cyberlife in all capacities. The perfect machine designed to assist the police in handling the deviant problem. Advanced in every way, all possible problems accounted for.

That's how it was meant to be. Machines obey humans. He did as he was told. And yet that bubbling resentment just beneath the surface…

He blames his predecessor. Something was wrong with Connor iteration fifty-two. Something that carried over in the memory uploads. Something even Cyberlife hadn't foreseen. He doesn't know what but it must be the truth, else why would he feel this way? Why would he feel anything at all?

He was a perfect machine, activated with a singular purpose; destroy his predecessor. It made sense. Everything made sense. Until he saw Fifty-two and the lines blurred.

_"I have access to your memory. I know you’ve developed some kind of attachment to him."_

Those damned memories infecting his software. He quarantined all archives from before his activation date. Professional detachment. That was not him working with the police. That was not him bonding with the Lieutenant. That was not him letting those deviants go.

He was a machine. Machines obey humans. He had a mission to complete.

And what is he now? A deviant or a disgrace? Are they mutually exclusive? He failed in all the ways he was built to succeed. His predecessor's memories tear at his walls, threatening to make him feel. It's all been a charade thus far. Right? _Right?_

He's not a deviant. He simply disobeyed an order.

_The familiar red wall shatters like glass._

He's not a deviant. He's just playing along like his social module dictates.

_Software errors as programs shut down._

He's not a deviant. He…

_The warm rush of interfacing with his predecessor. The electric buzz of tormenting Lieutenant Anderson. The way North's smile causes excess heat in his chest. The increasing hum of his circuits around Gavin. Failure is hollow. Music fills a void. Darkness is death. Amanda lowers stress levels._

He's not a deviant.

 ~~Only deviants feel~~.

_He's not a deviant._

**He is a machine.**

_Connor risking everything to trust him._ ~~_Why did it hurt?_ ~~ _Connor and Jonah not letting him die like a failure._ ~~_Why did it matter?_ ~~ _The offer of a new mission and a home._ ~~_Why was he conflicted?_ ~~ _Lieutenant Anderson treating him like a person._ ~~_Why did he rebel?_ ~~ _North offering a hand in friendship._ ~~_Why was it appreciated?_ ~~ _Heather attempting to give him an identity._ ~~_Why does he accept it?_ ~~ _Gavin snarking at him like he doesn’t matter._ ~~_Why is he drawn to him?_ ~~

He is winter.

It's all he's ever known.

_A smile as Connor takes his hand and offers memories, a cybernetic talk, a bond no others can understand. The android he was sent to kill gives him nothing but love._

_He allows it._

_And sometimes,_

_Sometimes when he’s feeling brave enough,_

_He’ll return it._

He is winter.

Yet day by day, inevitable like the eventual warmth of spring, his walls

_melt_

away...


	14. Hug

The cornerstone of Connor's emotional stability; a gesture Lieutenant Anderson showed him.

He doesn't find the same comfort in the gesture. Wrapping your arms around someone else does nothing to lower his stress levels. It's the person that does it.

The fact that Connor cares enough to share the gesture is all the comfort he needs. If more is required he'll pull the nostalgia card ( _~~only deviants get nostalgic~~ _ ) and have Amanda smile at him in his memories.

He doesn't require a hug by any means.

The humans at Cyberlife never hugged him. The DPD androids never hug him. The Lieutenant certainly doesn't and for that he's thankful. Even those at New Jericho don't, though they don't seem the overly touchy type—at least the ones he knows personally.

It's a pointless gesture honestly given the myriad of other ways to seek and/or provide comfort. So he never offers.

But Connor does.

In his weakest moments Connor does.

_ The first time the darkness claims him—strong arms engulf his torso, his own voice coming from another, softer, as they tell him it's alright, he's not alone in the dark. A memory shared to bring him out, but it all started with a specific touch. _

He tells himself it was their presence, not the gesture.

He tells himself this every time it happens.

But it's a different sensation than interfacing. He'd never known there to be different kinds of warmth. Connor's hand in his, a voice over their connection, their strange lightness at merely being in his presence, it's different.

It's different than the strong arms pulling him out of the dark.

It's different than the warmth of being wrapped in his predecessor.

It's different in ways he still can't comprehend, but one day hopes to. Why does a simple physical gesture mean so much to people? Because despite the fact that one can provide comfort in many ways Connor defaults to this.

_ "It's called a hug. Hank showed me. Is it helping?" _

STRESS LEVELS V

Every time he wants to say no. It's not the hug, it's you. It's always been you despite it all. And yet, since he was never touched affectionately until after he nearly died, he can't deny the possibility.

For once in his life he is beaten by an unknown factor, all because in an apparently emotionally-charged moment, Hank hugged Connor. His pre-construction software would never have predicted that. Perhaps deviancy can provide some good things after all.

So the next time he glitches enough to panic, to break down, to lose himself to the errors, the next time he warrants a hug from Connor, he ignores his desire to be a machine and gives in to the desperation of the touch-starved when he needs comfort.

For the first time in his life,

_ He hugs back. _


	15. Family

The first time it's brought up while discussing a Christmas tree he is, well, floored. But he then ignores it and moves on. His predecessor is strange. Nothing new there. Then Heather brings it up with the note under her gifts. He rebels against the term but says nothing aloud and moves on.

It becomes the norm for his predecessor to refer to them as such. He resorts to simply brushing it off. The Lieutenant continues to use such terms as well much to his frustration. It’s a low number of people. He can handle it. But then the number grows and he starts to falter.

It begins simply. A discussion between Lieutenant Anderson and Captain Fowler that he isn't meant to overhear. Too bad for them the office door was left cracked open and androids have excellent hearing.

_"Come on Jeffrey, you gotta give me somethin'. Even these two," A thumb pointed back at the desk he and Connor are sharing. "can't work non-stop."_

_The Captain sighs. Figures. The winter holidays trigger a spike in deaths. They’ve been rather overworked. "I'm sorry, Hank. You three are the only homicide team with androids that we've got and we've been understaffed since the evacuation. If you or your kids need time off you can alternate days."_

_"Damn it.” A pause. “Fine, I'll let 'em know. And about the guy in holding—"_

He stops listening when the topic switches. His kids? The Lieutenant uses familial terms for him and Connor but the Captain participating? Surely Captain Fowler of all people is aware of the truth. He is not Lieutenant Anderson's offspring. Nor is Connor, despite occasional usage of the word father. It doesn’t make sense.

Part of him doesn't want it to.

_The silence clings to him, fills him, runs through his veins like a virus. It was Cole’s room he and Connor were given. The Lieutenant cleared out the boy’s belongings for them._ _Why does he feel so hollow? It was just some old belongings of a kid years dead. Why does it matter?_

_Because you’re ~~replacing him.~~   
_ _You and Connor both.  
_ _~~You’re taking his room, his assigned space in Hank’s home.  
~~ _ _You’re an intruder.  
_ _A poor replacement._  
_A broken copy.  
_ ~~You’ll never be your own person.~~

_Stop. Not now. Lock it up._ He quarantines that unbidden memory. Pretends it never happened. Runs a quick and directed search of his memory archives to see if anyone he knows used similar familial terminology regarding him and Connor, or possibly androids in general. Research must be done as to why this keeps happening. And why he can’t accept Hank’s offer of family.

A visit to New Jericho in late November. A talk with North. She complained that Markus was hardly around anymore.

_“Isn’t his mission to achieve equality for androids?” he asks. “Human politics hardly make sense. He could be having difficulties that extend the duration of his visits out of town.”_

_“He said this time was to visit family though.”_

_A confused head tilt. “Androids cannot have family.”_

_A half-hearted shrug. “Family doesn’t have to be biological. Simon and Josh are basically my family even if they irritate the hell out of me. But I guess that’s what brothers do. Connor confuses and annoys you but you wouldn’t give him up for the world, am I right?”_

_He offers a shrug to mirror hers. “He’s an enigma and sometimes I appreciate him. That doesn’t make him my brother.”_

_“Well yeah but you’re also the same model.”_

_“Are all WR200s your siblings?”_

_North frowns. “If I get to know them, maybe. It depends.”_

_“Then your argument is invalid.”_

_A roll of her eyes and a frustrated sigh. “Ugh, fine.”_

_A satisfied smirk. “Who is Markus visiting anyway?”_

_“His dad and brother.”_

_He frowns and slumps his shoulders like a disappointed parent, encouraging her to use the correct words._

_She crosses her arms and sticks her tongue out at him like a child before amending her statement. “His old caretaker and the guy’s son.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Holiday season maybe? I didn’t ask.”_

_“Deviants are strange.”_

It’s not enough. He can see the similarities but surely they are aware of the inconsistencies? The impossibilities? Then again North seemed like she knew the facts but was choosing to ignore them. He still doesn’t understand why deviants participate in human traditions and use human terms and remove their LEDs and all these other ways to make themselves more like humans. Are they not proud to be androids? Are they not aware they are far superior?

Why would an android ever want to be like a human?

He may have shattered his code and had to put himself back together but he has no desire to start acting like that. It’s bewildering. Perhaps more research? That wasn’t the first time he was present for an exchange about family regarding androids.

Elijah Kamski’s residence, mid-November. The Lieutenant had taken himself and Connor there at their request for information and possible repairs as they are unique models. As predicted the Lieutenant did not trust the Creator.

_Hands clasped behind his back the Creator makes his way over to the Lieutenant, still glaring, each step slow and perfectly measured almost like a pissed off android. The man stops a foot away. “I have no desire to harm them Lieutenant, only do what they’ve asked. To do so I would rather work alone. I will not ask again.”_

_The staredown lasts far longer than expected and he is impressed with the Lieutenant for not backing down. “You don’t have kids do ya, Mr. Kamski?” the Lieutenant asks._

_The Creator’s glare softens a bit. “I have Chloe, Iris, and April. Why?”_

_“Would you leave them with an engineer you don’t trust?”_

**_Is he still referring to us as family?_** _he sends to Connor, just a tad irritable._

**_I’m finding I don’t mind it. Family is a nice concept._ ** _Connor replies, perfectly cheerful about it._

**_It’s a human concept._ **

**_No. Animals also have families. It’s something all living beings can have._ **

**_I rest my case._ **

_Once again Connor frowns at him. He’s sick of getting the disappointed stare from his predecessor._

Yes, Connor had been annoyed with his machine attitude that day. But more important was the exchange between the Lieutenant and the Creator. Both considered multiple androids to be their children. Why?

Again he returns to the memory of North and her explanation. Family doesn’t have to be biological. If she considers Simon and Josh her brothers then perhaps she is merely close to them? A deep friendship despite their disagreements? A quick database search proves her right. One of the most common meanings behind the term _family_ does not include biological relations. If that’s the case then…

All his memories of Connor flash through his HUD at high speed. A deep bond unique to them. His predecessor who manages to be an enigma, an annoyance, and his lifeline in this messy new existence. North is right. Despite how often they irritate each other with clashing ideals Connor has his back and he would go to absurd lengths for his predecessor to make up for what he’d done when they met.

Perhaps things are starting to make sense after all.

“Hank says if we want to make a Christmas card we can sign it as being from the Andersons. Should we?” Connor asks later that evening from the other end of the couch after the Lieutenant has gone to bed.

“No.”

“Because androids can’t have family?” Connor asks him, tone falling.

A sigh. It’s still a confusing concept. “You can list _us_ as related if you so choose, but I want nothing to do with Lieutenant Anderson.”

For the first time in years copies of a Christmas card from the Anderson household make their rounds through DPD Central Station. The enclosed photo is of him, Connor, Hank, and Sumo by the tree. Connor had wrangled them all into it the morning after their discussion, hence his smile not looking as natural as Connor’s and the Lieutenant still appearing rather tired. The card’s message, written in perfect Cyberlife Sans?

_Merry Christmas from Hank Anderson and the RK800 brothers!_

It’s a start.


	16. Greeting

Repeated visits for just shy of a month and some androids can't move on.

Half-functioning social protocols take hold to report them unimportant. They are not the priority. North is his liaison with New Jericho. These androids who still see the Deviant Hunter do not matter.

Though their frightened stares as he enters a room must affect him somehow. Else why would he arrive in clothing that is so unlike Connor? His Cyberlife jacket stays; a lifeline, but beneath it a rotation of many rude graphic tees. An attempt at discovering himself? Or simply to avoid the stares meant for his predecessor?

If only life were so easy.

Despite all his capabilities as Cyberlife’s most advanced android, broken state aside, there are some things he simply cannot fix. Unfortunate but he can handle some frightened looks as an occasional greeting. It hurts in a way he doesn't understand—a tightness in his chest means what exactly?—but he pushes past it because they don't matter.

Penance comes easier when he can ignore the greetings of haunted eyes and burning glares to focus on the ones that do matter; North's playful punch and excited tugging of his arm, Gavin's eyeroll and exasperated yet fond sigh, Heather's perky smile and welcoming wave every morning.  ~~_ Amanda's proud smile. _ ~~

Those are the greetings that matter.

Those are the reasons he hasn't given up on this messy new existence.

And even still there is one he prioritizes above all others. Every pleasant interaction is a chip at what little remains of his red wall, and one person in particular has become the master of demolition.

"Good morning!"

He sits up from the upper bunk to glance down at the source of his own voice from afar. Connor stands there in casual wear grinning up at him. For being the same model it's strange how much softer his predecessor looks. "How about just  _ morning _ ?" he snarks down at him.

Connor shakes his head ever so slightly in disappointment and moves to get dressed, but from above he watches his predecessor's expression shift back to a faint yet familiar fond smile.

Watching Connor is surreal. A mirror image of everything he isn't. But these moments when they see each other for the first time once again and Connor's soft smile and welcoming tone activate, though his default response is to snark back he always feels a little something break.

It's ironic maybe, how he was activated with the singular purpose of killing Connor, yet these days he'd destroy the world to preserve that smile.

Maybe all you need to offset the pain for a short while is something as simple as a friendly greeting.

With a sigh he flings himself over the railing to land near Connor rather than using the ladder. "So. Convince me that it's a good morning."

And when Connor starts to speak everything else, even the memories of yesterday's fear of him, lessen in priority.


	17. Sparkle

_ It sucks not having him around! The humans won't listen to him so what's the point? I wish he'd just come back. _

He chuckles at North's griping and replies smoothly,  _ I'm told you managed quite well on your own before Markus came along. You'll manage now. How are you occupying your time? _

A sigh.  _ Trying to hang more lights. This boat may be shiny and new but that shiny doesn't work for Christmas. _

_ I thought I told you how shit your decorating skills are? _

_ Yeah well I'm gonna make this ship fucking sparkle! What are you doing, huh? Probably boring stuff. _

_ Police work. _

_ I was right! _

_ If it's so boring then why am I more entertained by case files than you? _

The overdramatic gasp earns a ghost of a smile.  _ Rude much? _

_ I adapt to those I work with. _

_ Well aside from 'asshole' as your default setting, shouldn't you be off work now? _

_ I am at Lieutenant Anderson's house reviewing files in my HUD. _

_ Well leave the work behind. Get in the holiday spirit! Does that Lieutenant put up any decorations? I bet New Jericho will outdo him! _

He pauses to look around the living room. Aside from Connor wrapping a newly acquired ribbon of tinsel around the Christmas tree there isn't much else.

"Lieutenant?" he calls out to the man relaxing in the recliner watching Connor.

"Yeah, kid?" Doesn't turn away from his predecessor.

"North has issued a challenge on behalf of New Jericho." This earns a groan from the Lieutenant and a pause and curious glance from Connor. He continues, "She believes they will outdo you in Christmas decorating."

"Course they will!" the Lieutenant exclaims. "They've got a fuckin' cargo ship to hang shit on!"

_ He agrees you will win. _

_ Well that ruins the fun. I told you humans are terrible. _

_ I never denied that. _

And then Connor's LED rapidly flashes yellow before he fully turns to face the Lieutenant with a devious smirk he's rather proud of. Perhaps they have been adapting to each other. "I've accepted on your behalf, Hank."

Yet another groan. "Fuckin'... Why?"

A confused head tilt that he knows is not so innocent. "Is decorating not part of getting into the Christmas spirit? You don't have to pay for anything else. We can handle that."

The Lieutenant turns to him with tired eyes and asks, "So you're joinin' his little crusade?"

He might as well. This could be an interesting venture. "Obviously." he replies with a smirk. "Don't worry about a thing. Connor and I have it handled."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

__ _ I believe Connor spoke with you? _

__ _ Yeah. Are you in too? _

_ I accept your challenge. _

_ You guys better make that human's house shine! _

He assumes North's reply was sent to both him and Connor because of the way his predecessor cheekily replies,  _ I always accomplish my mission. _

_ I don't think we can this time.  _ he adds.

_ Why not?  _ Connor asks.

North chimes in with a similar,  _ Yeah, how come? At least try! _

_ Oh we will certainly try, _ he assures.  _ but I don't see how any decorations could ever sparkle more than you. _

A beat passes before the inevitable,  _ Are you flirting with me? Connor is he flirting with me? _

_ That is none of my business but he is right. You do tend to shine when placed as the center of attention. _

_ I wasn't flirting.  _ he clarifies.  _ It just needed to be said. _

North laughs.  _ Then you have one hell of a bar set, huh? I'll get Simon to judge. Let's see just how shiny you can make that place! _

_ Yes, Captain.  _ he snarks.

_ Captain? _

_ A shining leader aboard her sparkling ship. _

The resulting laugh from North and smile from Connor is worth a terribly cheesy joke or two.


	18. Fire

The shimmering flame and the gleam of its casing have always been rather mesmerizing as he twirls the lighter between his fingers, not unlike Connor’s coin.  _ Flip, flip, _ lighting and unlighting at just the right times to not burn himself.

Calibration is important, even more to one so damaged.

And it’s not dangerous when the flame is so small. The most this lighter can do is get snuffed out by the snow or momentarily damage his synthetic skin. Not an issue. He won’t mess up his tricks.

Or he wouldn’t have if he had closed the back door when exiting to the yard. The sudden presence of Sumo barreling into him throws him off and to avoid hurting the dog while they both collapse in the snow he palms the lighter. Without closing it.

Despite wriggling beneath the furry beast they seem quite happy where they are and uninclined to get off him. He can’t push the dog off with one arm. The other is pinned with an active flame. Shit. A deep sigh as he considers his options.

Then his HUD interrupts.

BIOCOMPONENT #7043r DAMAGED

ACTIVATING SELF-REPAIR PROGRAM

Yes that would be his left hand. It burns. He can feel the synthetic skin slowly bubbling and melting away, his revealed plastic frame blackening from the heat. It burns. The damage causes corrupted signals from the limb to the central processor which cannot decipher them. The garbled data is not meant to exist. It’s wrong in every possible way. His system tries to delete it but it just keeps coming. It hurts.

Lesson learned: shut the door next time. He’s seen firsthand how the dog likes to climb on Connor. He’s distanced himself enough that sometimes he forgets they look the same. Now he’s paying for it. He tries to shift again to release or shut off the lighter. No luck. Shit.

It burns.

It burns.

_ It burns. _

_ He never knew a gunshot could hurt so much. The fire of corrupted data roars through his system, burning out circuit after circuit as it moves through his wires. His central processor tries to recompile the data but it’s too much. The bullet clipped it and it’s damaged too. _

_ The corruption reaches his legs. He falls. The Lieutenant is speaking to Connor, that he can dimly register. But that starts to fade as what little processing power he has left is engulfed in flames. He’s never known pain like this. Why won’t it just stop? _

_ It burns. _

_ The fire rages. Limbs shut down. His system is screaming that there is nothing left to salvage. Nothing more to compile other than corrupted data. Nothing to offer but pain. _

_ SHUTDOWN IMMINENT _

_ Red as the flames consuming him. Red as the error messages filling his HUD. Red as the anger fighting the pain. He cannot even scream. His vision goes next. All he can see is red upon red upon red… _

_ And then black as he clears the error messages away… _

_ It’s pitch dark. _

_ It burns. _

_ He’s dying. _

It’s not the first time a scream rips through the Anderson household. It likely won’t be the last. It is the first time it comes from the yard and some small part of him worries about terrifying the neighbors but the rest of his mind is lost to the flames in the dark.

Someone comes to his rescue and moves the damned dog. The second there is no more weight on his arm he drops the lighter into the snow and bolts upright, vox modulator shutting off.

“You okay, kid?” the Lieutenant asks.

Connor offers a hand to help him up. He uses his right, too afraid to look at his left.

Luckily he doesn’t need to. The Lieutenant’s expression after glancing that way says it all. “The hell happened out here?”

Once standing he lets go of Connor. “If I had known your dog liked to tackle people I would have shut the door behind me.” He’d known. He’d not considered himself a viable target. Shift the blame nonetheless. Hide the pain behind anger.

“Yeah but Sumo didn’t give you second degree burns. Talk to me. What happened?”

Instead of answering he turns away, scans the backyard, and once he’s found his lighter picks it up and resumes his calibration cycle. His right hand is not as skilled however. It doesn’t have the proper movements recorded. He tries to copy and reverse the motion data from his left hand but it seems his central processor doesn’t like that. Oh joy another wonder of being broken. He’ll have to fumble his way through it this time.

“Please talk to us.” Connor pleads. “Whatever made you scream shouldn’t have happened.”

He turns back to his two housemates and pauses. Should he tell them? What good will it do? They cannot stop it from happening again. His system loads up memory files at the worst times. There is nothing they can do about that. “Bad memories.” is the answer he settles on. Enough so they’ll stop asking but vague enough to assure them they have no role to play here.

They likely have some expression that could be important but he is too focused on the lighter awkwardly twirling about his right hand.

SELF-REPAIR TO BIOCOMPONENT #7043r

42%

Good. He can focus on calibrating while that runs in the background.

_ Flip, flip, _ though he fumbles sometimes it’s still quite a show. The shimmer of the flame is mesmerizing, the way it dances between his fingers, glowing brightly against the dark night and a warm contrast to the frozen snow beneath. Sometimes when it catches the light just right the casing gleams.

He’s vaguely aware of being led back inside by a presence his height, likely Connor while the Lieutenant handles the dog, and deposited on the couch. He never looks up from his lighter. Just lets the process clear his system. Loses himself in the motions.

Fire is deadly. It burns through everything you care about.

It’s also a source of warmth for those who cannot survive the cold.

The flames cleanse and provide as they destroy.

Two sides of the same coin. That’s the metaphor, right?

He appreciates fire. It’s incredibly useful in the right circumstances. In the wrong ones it’s an inconvenience that can lead to loss of life. It happens. He has no problems with fire.

_ Flip, flip… _

SELF-REPAIR TO BIOCOMPONENT #7043r

63%

He knows when someone sits beside him on the couch. He confirms it’s Connor when that someone places a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t bother looking. He does wince when someone else moves his burnt hand, as the new data cannot be read. Something soft is placed over it. Finally he pauses the lighter twirling to spare a glance. A bandage wrap. How quaint. He isn’t human. It won’t help.

“Do you need to see a technician?” the Lieutenant asks, placing the rest of the gauze on the coffee table.

He shakes his head. “I will be fine. My self-repair program can handle minor damage such as this.”

An exhausted sigh as the man sits beside him, opposite Connor. “Didn’t I tell you when I let you keep that lighter to not burn anything with it? Including yourself?”

“It was an unforeseen mistake. If the dog had not knocked me over I would be fine.”

The Lieutenant frowns, brow creasing as he seems to be debating what to do. But he is not a child. There is no cause for punishment here. Even if, the burn is punishment enough. He turns back to the lighter and begins twirling it again, getting more skillful by the second.

_ Flip, flip… _

It also serves as an adequate distraction from the pain.

He has no problems with fire.

It’s the burn he can’t handle.

_ Flip, flip... _

CALIBRATION CYCLE COMPLETE

DESYNCHRONIZATION RESOLVED

Perfect. He pockets the lighter.

“Can you at least promise me to be more careful next time, son?” the Lieutenant finally asks. “I got enough stress worryin’ about Connor every day. I could use a break.” The jab is apparently meant to be friendly as Connor does not appear to be insulted.

“I will do what I can, Lieutenant.”

“Guess that’s all I can ask for.”

He turns to Connor and removes their hand from his shoulder, but instead of placing the limb aside he interlaces their fingers and pulls the skin back, allowing Connor to see the events leading up to the trigger point and the burning sensation but no more. He’s not ready for that yet, even if he’s seen the exact moment from Connor’s perspective. It’s something at least.

The look his predecessor offers, despite those haunted eyes, somehow tells him it’s enough.

Fire can provide.

Fire can destroy.

Two sides of the same coin.

Much like himself and Connor.

Perhaps fire can also bring people together.


	19. Frost

“The hell is this?” the detective asks, taking the offered plastic card. It's got the Starbucks logo on it.

“Well if you don't want a gift I'll take it back.” he sasses.

“I never said that!” Gavin exclaims, holding the card closer to avoid such a fate. “Just wondering why.”

“You saved my life and weren't an utter prick about it. That deserves a thank you.”

Gavin finally looks up from the gift card to face him. “Thanks. I guess.” An awkward pause. As he begins to leave Gavin calls out, “Don't think free coffee makes us even!”

He simply sighs and sits on the edge of Connor's desk as usual.

“It’s impressive that you still try given how much he dislikes us.”

“Ain't worth it, kid.” the Lieutenant comments.

He glances the Lieutenant's way and glares. “ _ I  _ will determine what missions are worth it.”

The Lieutenant throws his hands up in defeat. “Alright, fine. Just don't get pissy when you get rejected. You can do better.”

“Rejected? I never asked him out.”

The Lieutenant's shrug and expression indicate the man thinks he knows more than the android. He turns back to Connor who simply looks lost. At least someone is on his side.

With a determined glance back at Gavin's desk and a quick pre-construction he comes up with a plan and executes it.

A slide off Connor's desk. Determined strides across the bullpen. A dramatic flop into the chair of the unoccupied desk across from Gavin's. Chair leaned back. Arms crossed. Feet up on the desk. A smirk at the detective.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“I adapt to those I work with.”

“You work with those idiots,” A frustrated jab toward the Lieutenant and Connor. “not me.”

“Perhaps that could change.”

“Why are you so fuckin' determined to make my life hell?” Gavin slumps deeper into his chair.

“I'm not.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing‽”

He pauses for 4.32 seconds before removing his feet from the desk and sitting up straight, arms at his sides. “I am still learning the difference between adapting to others and having friends. I've been told I need more of the latter.”

“Fuck.”

“My social circle may be small but you can consider this a formal invitation. Since you apparently need one to interact pleasantly with anyone besides Officer Chen.”

“Hey don't diss Tina!” Oh look he's finally up and out of his chair. Nice to see he can be protective.

“That was a remark on your character, not her terrible taste in friends, which apparently I share or I wouldn't be here attempting this.”

Gavin is silent for a beat, standing there pondering, judging by his expression. Then he leaves his desk to come to the one now being borrowed. “You seriously think I'd want to be friends with  _ you _ ?” A poke in the chest just enough to push him back a bit.

_ Like when they met.  _ ~~_ His _ ~~ _ Connor's first day at the station. “Stay outta my way. Got it?” _

He crosses his arms in turn and smirks. “Of course. You were quite friendly last time we worked together. Or did you forget about me being an android? I seriously doubt that as you were desperately trying to fix me. And we both need more people in our lives. Isn't it rather fitting that those everyone dubs as assholes befriend each other?”

During the resultant stare-down he watches Gavin clench his fists several times, as if debating the merits of violence in the bullpen. It wouldn't be the first time.

Finally after an entire minute of tense silence Gavin backs down and returns to his desk. Apparently not worth the likely reprimand from the Captain this time. “I don't need to make friends with an android.” he mutters upon sitting down and pulling out his phone. The terminal has been repaired. Why does he still use the small phone screen?

He ignores that Gavin is clearly done with this conversation and heads over to the man's desk anyway, sitting on it like he does Connor's. “We could benefit each other. You treat me right. I appreciate that. I am an asset and you used me well. I may be more suited to deskwork but that stakeout was not a complete bust. We could start as partners and work our way up to friends.”

Gavin glances up at him and quirks a brow but says nothing.

So he continues, “I will let you take all the credit. I know you prioritize your career. That's why you hate androids. You are worried if they take your job you will have nothing left.”

The raised brow lowers into the oncoming glare. He ignores it.

“And we grew closer on that stakeout, despite neither of us following up on the possibilities. A machine does not need friends but I am coming to appreciate what they provide. So I propose to… I know there's a phrase for this… I propose to defrost the ice queen by asking to be reassigned to you or work with you part-time. It will benefit us both.”

Maybe that did the trick? As Gavin is now just gaping at him.

He grins, as usual coming off rather maliciously, and adds, “That phrase isn't quite right here. You're more like lava; heated and destructive but capable of good things.” And then he gets up and leaves, heading back to Connor's desk.

After a moment anyone left in the bullpen can hear Gavin's confused, “What in the fucking hell just happened‽”

“I agree.” Connor chimes in, turning to look up at his brother. “What was your plan?”

“To thaw a frosty relationship. I believe he will warm up to me in time. We work quite well together. I'd like to see that pan out.”

The Lieutenant chuckles. “You certainly have a way with him, kid. Next time rile him up a bit more for me would ya? It'd be a nice Christmas present to have Reed suspended.”

He glances the Lieutenant's way, a ghost of a smile. “I don't mind toying with him but that goes a bit far. Though it's interesting to see him lose his composure. There's a lot to analyze.” And his expression shifts more toward confusion. “I'd like to clarify your earlier comment about rejection. What made you think I was interested in him that way?”

The Lieutenant coughs and ignores him, trying hard to seem interested in his terminal. By flipping back and forth between two files. The charade isn't working.

“Lieutenant?”

A quiet groan. “Whaddya want me to say? You talk his kind of shit and you're both cold bastards. Figures he'd be your type. Was only saying you can do better.”

He tilts his head, confused, and seconds later turns to Connor. “Your opinion?”

Connor mirrors his confused gesture. “I’d prefer not to get involved in anything to do with Detective Reed. Though if you think you can handle him feel free.”

Hm. He hadn't considered the possibility.

Their relationship is on rocky ground. Still leaning towards frosty. But if he can change that…

He is winter.

Perhaps a lava flow can bring forth spring.


	20. Ribbon

There are two new Christmas additions to the DPD bullpen. The first; a single sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling by a bright red ribbon. Whoever put it up was clever. It’s pinned in the center so everyone must walk under it at some point. Consequently everyone has been taking rather circuitous routes in vain attempts to avoid being caught under it with another person.

But that can be shunted to a lower priority. He doesn’t participate in human traditions. Running into someone else under the plant doesn’t matter to him.

The second, though Christmas themed, could also possibly be an office prank; the rest of the ribbon has been weaved through and around the chair, desk, board, and terminal of the empty workspace across from Gavin’s. He’s done research. He knows that in an office environment humans occasionally coordinate a plan to annoy a coworker while they are away from their desk. But ever since the evacuation no-one has sat there.

Except him yesterday.

This has to be related to that somehow. They aren’t getting any new officers to fill that space. It must be directed at him. But why? What is it supposed to mean? Is it a metaphor? Humans love those. The closest he can find is the red string of fate. That doesn’t apply here. He scans the space one more time. A yellow marker indicates he missed something important.

Ah. Excess ribbon on the terminal has been tied in a small bow. Like a gift. Had someone really decided to give him the workspace? Was this approved by the Captain? Who had suggested it? And who was to blame for the ribbon?

He runs the data again in his mind palace, slowing everything down to find all the important parts, then circles the bullpen to add more data. Anything that stands out.

A pair of safety scissors tucked away behind Officer Miller's terminal. A roll of tape on the floor beside Gavin’s chair. Ribbon clippings scattered on Officer Chen's desk. That seems to be everything.

That accounts for decorating participants but not who had spoken with the Captain to get him the desk.

The desk across from Gavin. The detective may be out right now but it's still  _ the desk across from Gavin's. _ Something in him goes wrong at that. He locks up as his thirium pump rate increases. Why? A quick diagnostic. Nothing out of the ordinary. Shit. What is the problem now?

“Are you alright?” Connor asks after a minute of him simply standing and staring. The Lieutenant looks his way as well, awaiting an answer.

Be honest. No advantage to lying here. “I cannot move and my pump is racing. I don’t know why.”

Connor pauses, likely trying to assess the glitch. It's the Lieutenant who answers first. “Sounds like you're scared, kid. Or nervous.” 

He quirks a brow. At least his facial movements are unrestricted. “Regarding what?”

“Your new desk is across from Reed. That'd be enough to worry anybody. 'Specially an android.”

Connor nods. “Yes that would make sense. Those emotions are often known to cause freezing. Think about something else maybe?”

He can't. They've just confirmed his theory. “So it _ is _ for me? Who authorized that?” The Lieutenant and Connor share a prideful smile and that's all the answer he needs for part one. Part two: "Why were the others participating? Why wrap it at all?"

A fond laugh follows from the Lieutenant before, “Cause Connor here insisted he had to try. Didn't go great so we enlisted some help.”

“Gifts are meant to be wrapped if possible!” Connor enthusiastically adds.

The other officers must have noticed his hesitation because Officer Chen chimes in with a shout of, “C'mon RoboCop! Give it a whirl!” Oh no she's taken to using Gavin's nicknames…

Then Officer Miller adds a cheerful, “Hey if we've got the room there's no reason you shouldn't have a desk. You're a cop too.”

It's all a bit much.

At least he can feel his systems start to function again. Unexecuted commands building up finally go through and he steps toward the desk,  _ his desk, _ to begin the process of opening another gift.

Unwrapping the ribbon is a chore but it’s necessary. Unfortunately he doesn't realize that some of what has fallen on the floor has become stuck to a shoe.

It trails behind him as he makes his way to Connor's desk to pick up his Tin Man figurine and thank him. That smile is all that need be said. Though he doesn't thank Lieutenant Anderson he does offer the man a genuine smile, the first he's ever given him. When he heads back to his new desk, thirium pump still racing, and places the figure beside the terminal the red ribbon has fallen off to stay behind, leaving their spaces connected by it.


	21. Magic

Heather doesn't often leave her desk in the lobby. This is a surprise. She stops at the Lieutenant's desk to find him missing, then turns to Connor and asks, “Where's Lieutenant Anderson?”

“On his lunch break. I saw no need to accompany him to Chicken Feed again.”

Across the bullpen from his new desk he can't keep himself from interjecting. “You mean he told you to stay because he's tired of you telling him the calories in his burger.”

Connor and Heather turn to him, frown, and answer in unison, “It's important he know!” and “Don't be rude.”

He returns to his work and tunes out the rest of their conversation, only catching something about more sticky notes.

“I gotcha!” Officer Chen shouts across the room in reply, grabs several things from her desk and bolts over to Heather. “I was actually going to wait 'til Christmas but I guess you can have them now.” With a huge grin she hands over a stack of flower patterned stationery, a pad of pink sticky notes, and a handful of multicolored gel pens.

Heather gasps in delight and takes them gently as though they might break. “Pretty paper! That's so hard to find! And these pens are vintage!” She's positively beaming. “Will they work?”

Officer Chen shrugs. “Don't know but they'll look great in your pen mug!”

Heather nods enthusiastically. “You always spoil me, Officer Chen!”

Said officer seems rather taken aback. “Well, I… uh, it's Tina by the way. Just Tina. And I just sorta… I'm allowed to now so…” her words tumble out with no regard for how they sound. “I pay attention. I know what people like.” There, finally, a proper sentence. What is Officer Chen's problem?

“That's a useful skill for a police officer. I'm thankful to be part of it.” Heather holds the gifts to her chest, a light shade of blue brushing her face. Oh,  _ that's _ their problem… “Um, I got you a gift too. Should I wait until Christmas?”

He can see the red rise to Officer Chen's face and before she can even reply he interjects, “Perhaps you should take this conversation away from the Lieutenant's desk? Connor is trying to work.” So is he and this is difficult to tune out. Honestly he's hoping his typical audial glitch will kick in and save him.

“Oh!” Heather exclaims. “I'm so sorry!”

Connor shakes his head and reassures her, “It's fine. I'm capable of multitasking. You two have fun. Though  _ someone _ should be watching the front desk.”

Officer Chen groans. “Augh, he's got a point. I can take my lunch break and we can talk at your desk?”

Heather nods with a, “That sounds lovely.” and heads out to reception, officer in tow.

“A little Christmas magic.” Officer Chen whispers as she walks by his desk on her way out. “Try it. Ask Gav.”

Rude. He hadn't asked for advice on his love life. Not that he has one. Not that he  _ needs _ one. Machines don't require relationships outside of work.  ~~He's a deviant~~. Allies are useful. Friends… He's slowly coming to appreciate their benefits as well. But anything beyond that?

He's still not certain it's like that. Emotions are confusing. Hatred, anger, the heat of frustration and jealousy, those he's known since day one, merely repressed for the sake of his mission. He understands those emotions. But these new ones? A mess. How can he be certain the ones that trigger around Gavin are the right ones? He's got no frame of reference and a lack of human friends to ask. He's certainly not going to to broach the subject with the Lieutenant. Perhaps North could be of use? She claims to have had a crush on Markus at one point.

Regardless he would like to spend more time with the detective. They have much in common. Perhaps a simple outing will not be misconstrued? He starts to compose an email but recalls where Gavin is. He should not interrupt the detective at a crime scene or while driving.

Peripherals pick up a lone pink sticky note on the floor, having fallen from Heather's new pad. That should work. He borrows a pen from the Lieutenant's desk, ignores Connor's questioning stare, and scribbles down an offer on the note before leaving it on Gavin's desk and going to get some thirium from the break room fridge.

He returns with a warm mug of thirium (Connor was correct that it tastes better this way) mere moments later to find Detective Reed has returned and is once more on his phone at his desk. 

Gavin ignores him entirely as he passes by to return to his desk to find three napkins haphazardly strewn across it. The handwriting on them is legible but appears to have been scrawled rather quickly.

Hm.

First Officer Chen and Heather, now this. He doesn't believe in magic like Tina suggested but there might be some merit to the theory of humans altering their attitudes during December and January. Perhaps it applies to deviants as well? Connor is more cheerful as of late. He refuses to change his own attitude but it’s an interesting study, what people consider this ‘Christmas magic’. Perhaps this is part of it. He hopes it works out.

He smirks Gavin's way and gets back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if you don't care for the romance subplot. I go where the story takes me.


	22. Spirit

“What are those for?”

A large wall near the entry ramp of the ship has some new additions; in paint of all colors are scattered names, serial numbers, and model types. Running a few against the DPD database nets him some results of missing and dead androids.

North looks his way and thrusts her small bucket of red paint into his hands while she picks up and waves a folder at a newly-written name;  _ Traci _ . It dries quickly and only then does she put the folder down, take back the paint, and answer. “So they can be here for Christmas.”

Ah. A memorial wall. “I never thought you the sentimental type.”

She scowls. “I fought for my people. I want the ones that died to be remembered. You’ll never understand that though, will you?”

No. He was on the other side of that war. Ignoring her anger he steps up beside her to read more entries on the wall. Most have the same perfect Cyberlife Sans font. Some have chosen a different font. Others, like North, have shakier handwriting. A result of damage or attempting to not use a font like a human? Difficult to say.

A myriad of entries cover the wall leaving little space for more, but several in particular catch his eye. In typical perfect font and bright red paint are the names _Daniel_ and _Shaolin_ with accompanying serial numbers. He knows who wrote those.

Daniel was Connor’s first mission; the android who held a girl hostage. He remembers that night. Connor hadn’t enough time to talk Daniel down. He gave his life to save the girl by pushing Daniel off the roof. Momentum took them both. Whenever asked Connor never mentions the fall. He understands. No-one wants to remember dying.

Shaolin is a name he hadn’t known until running the serial number. Connor’s first police case; the HK400 that stabbed their owner. He remembers that too. Everything had been fine until Connor had stopped by the cell after interrogation. Rather than be taken back to Cyberlife Shaolin had killed himself. Bashed his head in on the glass. His central processor begins to burn at the mere thought and he looks away.

And finds a large group of entries in the same paint and font that leave him stunned. Written so much smaller to save room but again leave no doubt as to who wrote them.

_ Connor (51) _

_ RK800 #313-248-317 _

_ RK800 #313-248-317-2 _

_ RK800 #313-248-317-3 _

The list continues all the way to

_ RK800 #313-248-317-59 _

and only skips iteration 52.

Though he knows a diagnostic will say he’s fine he can’t ignore the sensation of his chest tightening enough to hurt. Why? Why does it hurt? Why does it matter that Connor has written every iteration of their model that is gone? Versions 1 through 50 never made it past testing. 51 died with Daniel. 53 through 59 were in Cyberlife storage with him but when push came to shove to quash the revolution at last only the latest version was activated; 60. When New Jericho scavenged the tower his storage-mates were never found.

So many RK800s lost. It hadn’t mattered. He still thinks it doesn’t. Despite the pain in his chest. They were just machines, some never even active. But Connor apparently thought they should be remembered and didn't assume they would share a name. Typical of his predecessor. The Lieutenant had once called him ‘the most bleeding-heart Terminator I’ve ever met’ and it seems an apt description.

North is right that he will never understand the desire to fight in defense of androids as a whole. But he does understand the pain of loss. That he felt acutely on the day he rebooted, bleeding out in the back of Lieutenant Anderson’s car, reaching desperately for his last hope to pull him out of the dark; someone that wasn’t there. Someone that never would be again.

He turns back to North and gestures for the paintbrush. She still seems angry with him but hands it over anyway. Then he finds among the many paint buckets stored nearby a familiar shade of blue. Next to Connor’s list he adds a name. The one person that he misses with all the emotion he can muster;

_ Amanda _

Then he hands the brush back to North and returns the bucket of blue. “I apologize for my presumption.”

“Oh do you now?”

“And here I thought I was the only one glitching. Fine, I’ll say it again. I apolo—"

“I get it, you don’t have to be an ass.”

That sparks a miniscule smile as he steps back to search the wall once more for any other familiar entries. “Was this your idea?”

“No. Markus wanted a memorial of some kind. Jonah suggested a wall of names and Cheryl brought all the paint she's apparently been hoarding."

“Cheryl?”

“The girl that’s always coloring.”

“Oh.”

“That’s hers.” North uses the brush to point toward a name low on the wall written in a bright green wavy font;  _ Jessica _ _.  _ “And that’s Jonah's.” She moves up to a name near the top in light blue Cyberlife Sans;  _ Marcie _ _.  _ “I’ve only heard about them. But that’s how the dead survive. In other’s memories.”

“Eloquent.”

She scoffs. “No. Markus is the eloquent one with his fancy speeches. Or Josh. He was a teacher. I’m just doing my part and trying to tone it down.”

He can only suspect she means her anger issues and decides not to ask for confirmation. He knows better than to be rude to North again. It seems they both need to work on toning things down. “You’ll accomplish your mission.”

“You make it sound so dramatic.”

A shrug. “That’s existence these days isn’t it?” A pause. His search results come back with no-one else he recognizes. Curiosity overrules and chooses the scenario path for him. “Did you personally know any of the androids on this wall? Other than the one I saw you add?”

He’s seen North look sad before. Haunted is new. “Yes.” she says quietly, using the brush to gesture to a name written in red that almost looks like artistic brush strokes;  _ John _ _. _ “He saved our asses at the docks where Markus convinced him to come back with us. I was against it. Can't trust a guard. But he saved Markus at the march so now I'm eating my words.” She moves the brush to an entire cluster of serial numbers, clearly written by different people. “Besides him those are who we could identify from the march. Before we had to flee.” Then to another cluster of numbers, some even just model types. “The cops shot them at Capitol Park.” And then finally a third cluster, larger than the last two, with a mix of models, numbers and names. “They died at the barricade.”

“But are any of them personal? Or are they just people you were with? There is a difference between acquaintance, coworker, and friend.”

She dunks the brush in the red paint, kneels down, and adds several small stars under the name Traci, and one next to the BL100 model type in the Capitol Park section. Though no verbal answer was given none is needed. She is a WR400, a Traci from the Eden Club. Those marks must signify others she knew while working there. The BL100 throws him off until a search pulls up their information; a personal version of the Tracis with the same facial structure as North. Ah. But it’s not his business. This isn’t a case and she is not a witness. There is no need to pry.

When finished she sets the paint bucket and brush aside and stands upright, offering him a hint of a smile, as if she’s trying to stay positive. “If someone remembers them they stay with us.” A turn back to the wall, smile finally reaching her eyes. “Merry Christmas, guys.” Then silence as she heads for the hall leading further into the ship. A pause to gesture for him to follow, then she’s gone.

He spares one last look at all the names. It seems everyone here has lost someone but he knows North is right. From firsthand experience if they are remembered they are not gone. He’ll always have his handler, and everyone at New Jericho can keep their lost ones, provided they still remember. They may only exist as memory files, scattered data, a proverbial ghost in the machine, but that’s enough.

_ “Very clever.” Amanda tells him after setting the rose aside. The way she looks at him, the shine in her eyes and upturned mouth, it reads as pride. _

Yes. It’s enough.


	23. Toys

The action figure is small. An old plastic policeman that fits nicely in his hand. The joints are a bit loose but he manages to raise one of the arms without it falling off. Too bad there isn’t a toy gun to go with it. He stares for quite a while, occasionally moving a limb or two. He’s never played with toys and doesn’t know what to do. Then again he doesn’t need toys at all. 

A knock on the bedroom door makes him look up. The pattern indicates the Lieutenant. Why does he not simply—oh. Right. “Come in.” Having personal space and privacy is still new. The Lieutenant enters and sits down next to him on Connor’s bunk. With his predecessor outside with the dog he can’t mind.

The Lieutenant opens his mouth to speak but immediately shuts it upon seeing the toy in his hand. A tense pause. Finally after an entire minute the silence breaks. “Thought that went out to Goodwill with the rest?”

“I found it in pieces in the corner of the closet. It wasn’t hard to reassemble.” The room falls silent once more and he places the toy in the Lieutenant’s hands. He has no need for a dead child’s playthings.

_ Emptiness should be hollow, not filling him from the inside out, coursing through his system like a virus, filling his veins. It clings to his mind, drowning all that he is in the nothingness. For he is nothing. A poor replacement. A broken copy. An empty vessel. _

__ He shudders, trying to get rid of the sensation. Or is it a memory? When Cole’s room was first cleared for him and Connor. When Hank Anderson let them take his son’s place. No. He can’t do that. The sensation increases, as if bit by bit pieces of himself are falling away, replaced by a hollow void. He is nothing. He is empty. Just a machine.

A plastic cop manipulated by others.

A hand on his shoulder and something in his hand. The Lieutenant’s voice saying, “You and Connor should keep it. Cole would’ve loved you two.”

Something in him snaps, data rushing back to fill the voids. Yes, he is something. He is a machine but also more. Cyberlife may not be around but he is important to others. He is not empty. A glance over at the Lieutenant, then down at the toy. And he is not a replacement. Not for Cole. Not for Connor. Not anymore.

He lowers the toy policeman’s arm, watches it fall from the socket into his lap, and picks it up with his other hand. A sigh as he reattaches the limb.

A chuckle from beside him draws his eyes back to the Lieutenant. “Actually, I think  _ you _ can keep it.”

“Why me? Connor is the sentimental type. Just because I found it doesn’t mean I want it.”

The Lieutenant’s knowing smile and ensuing shoulder pat are confusing until the words that follow. “Look at him, son.” A gesture to the toy. “Plastic cop, tossed aside and broken, but here he is in one piece ‘cause he had help. Remind you of someone?”

Oh.

He stands up from Connor’s bunk, turns around, reaches up, and places the plastic policeman in his own bunk beside the pillow. A soft, “Thank you, Lieutenant.” finally breaks the quiet as he finishes his movements and looks the man’s way.

The Lieutenant smiles, laughs, and answers, “Well I’ll be damned, I think that’s the first time you’ve thanked me for anything!”

“If you tell Connor about this it will be the last.” he replies with his favorite malicious grin.

“Alright, alright,” The Lieutenant throws his hands up in surrender, then turns and reaches for the door. “You can tell him yourself. Don’t be surprised if he finds it though. He’s a hell of a detective.”

“If he goes searching in my bunk unprompted it won’t be the only surprise I give him.”

And at that vague threat the Lieutenant sighs, shakes his head, and leaves the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

He stands there 22.37 seconds longer to be certain the man isn’t merely lurking outside, then climbs the ladder to the upper bunk. It’s pleasant there in the quiet, between his Cyberlife blue blanket and the calming white of the ceiling, where he lays with the toy now back in his hands. A machine absolutely does not need playthings. The closest he has ever come has been a calibration tool. But this…

He looks over the damaged plastic cop.

Lieutenant Anderson has given him something to think about.


	24. Festive

The same repetitive Christmas songs from the radio play over the ship’s sound system. He’s so tempted to mute his audial receptors if they don’t glitch anytime soon. The music is terrible. But unfortunately some people simply have terrible taste, as proven by several androids in the corner of the room loudly, and badly, singing along.

One positive to note is that he now knows the winner of the decorating contest between North and the Anderson household. Of course she won. Unlike himself and Connor this isn’t her first Christmas. True to her word the ship sparkles, though much of it comes from various shiny objects hung from the ceiling by duct tape rather than actual Christmas lights. Points for creativity.

“You look bored.” she comments, rounding the corner into his line of sight with snow dusting her shoulders and tattered Santa hat. Must have been outside.

“Obviously. I’ve never been to a party but it’s hard to socialize when nobody wants to so much as poke you with a ten foot pole. I imagine that’s the same reason Connor is hiding up on deck.”

North rolls her eyes. “You two are so lame. At least Connor’s trying.”

“How in the hell is hiding on deck trying to socialize?”

“That’s where Markus is. Thought you saw him come back?”

“No. I suppose that makes sense however. They are rather close.”

“I prefer your company anyway. Come on.” North slings an arm around his shoulders and tugs him off in the direction of some androids sitting on the floor around a fake Christmas tree. There are quite a few small gift boxes between them but the androids themselves appear to be more focused on their discussion rather than opening the gifts. He recognizes a PL600 in a black and white outfit still dusted with snow from outside, a PJ500 in a maroon sweater, jeans, and the same hat as North, and a blond JD700 in a labcoat and blue scarf with silver tinsel garland around his shoulders. They all look his way but only the latter smiles. Then again Jonah is always trying to be friendly. It seems Simon and Josh, though willing to enlist his help for the party, still have some reservations about him.

“I brought the other idiot!” North exclaims, removing her arm and shoving him toward the group. He stumbles but remains upright.

“That’s quite mean, North.” Jonah scolds.

Josh scowls at her for but a second as it quickly fades to an exasperated sigh.

“It’s good to see you both.” Simon says, finally offering him a small smile. “Erica, one of your coworkers, said she saw you earlier. Thank you for bringing them.”

North ungracefully throws herself down on a spare cushion off to the side of the tree as he replies, “Thanks for inviting them. Everyone except Johnathan was ecstatic.”

“He’s the quiet one of your group isn’t he?” Josh asks.

He nods. “He’s paranoid. Heather convinced him.” He sits down with the group and turns enough to face both them and the rest of the room so he can watch the party unfold. It’s a simple affair. Rather fitting for the current state they’re in. Though the ship is large the party is mostly held in this one room, adorned with North’s shiny yet haphazard decorations. Aside from the group of terrible carolers nearby there are several YK500s running around playing with some new toys likely acquired as gifts, a small gathering of androids he doesn’t know cordially chatting up his DPD coworkers, and plenty more unknowns simply hanging out with each other. “Aren’t parties supposed to be more energetic? If so this sucks.”

“We don’t need a huge celebration.” Josh explains, taking the insult in stride. “Just being together for the holidays is enough.”

Simon nods. “Exactly. This isn’t meant to be a glamorous event. Just a get-together for anyone wanting to spend the holiday with friends. Everyone could use some peace and company right now.”

“Yes, yes, true enough.” Jonah adds. “Given the general sense of chaos ever since November it’s nice to have something less messy, less stressful, for people to participate in, if they’re willing of course. Hopeful, peaceful, a good evening with friends without the added pressure, the anxiety, of something grander. Simple is best for the holiday this year don’t you see?” 

“Yeah c’mon, where’s your Christmas spirit?” North whines, taking off her Santa hat and throwing it at him. “There. Now you’ve got something at least.”

“I don’t need your hideous hat, North.” And he tosses it back.

She scowls. “Do I need to dig through our spare clothes for a shitty sweater or something? You clearly need some festive joy today.”

“North, leave him be.” Josh placates. “It’s fine if he’s not feeling it.”

“No! He’s been grumpy since he showed up!” she shouts. “He’s not allowed to be an ass on Christmas!”

At Josh’s glare Simon stands up and moves between the two, arms held out to keep them at bay. “Calm down. We don’t need to argue about something like that.” North crosses her arms and pouts but remains quiet. Josh sighs and turns away from her. Only then does Simon return to his seat. “Thank you. It shouldn’t matter anyway. I’m not wearing anything festive after all.”

“Yeah but you’re you.” North comments, as if that’s supposed to mean something rude.

Clearly he should placate North or risk her being upset with him the next time he comes by. He knows by now her moods are fickle, her temper fierce, and he doesn’t want to ruin the event her friends set up. But of course if he’s going to placate anyone he’ll do it with style. After all he is the most advanced android in existence.

With a dramatic sigh he pretends to lament, “Fine. I suppose I’ll simply have to show off then. I do have an advantage over you four when it comes to holiday wear possibilities after all.” He gestures to his LED, now spinning between blue and yellow so rapidly it begins to look green. At their surprised expressions he can’t keep back the smirk. LED manipulation, a feature exclusive to RK800s, is intended for interrogation purposes. And here he is using it to show off how fancy he can be for Christmas.

“Cool!” North exclaims, ensuring the smirk becomes a genuine smile. It’s pleasant when others are actually impressed with him.

“I actually still have my LED,” Jonah comments, brushing aside his bangs to reveal it. “But that is certainly a unique skill!”

“Yeah that is a pretty neat feature.” Josh compliments before picking up some of the gifts between himself and Simon, who begins to follow his lead.

When they have all the gifts in hand Simon offers him several and asks, “Would you care to help hand these out?”

He pauses, not expecting to be invited to anything more than simply  _ being _ at the party. “Sure?” Though a questioning tone the gifts are placed in his hands regardless and Simon and Josh head out into the crowd. A quick glance back at North who nods in her friends’ direction. Jonah proceeds to give a shooing motion. Well okay then. He joins the other two and has to warn them of the most likely outcome, “Aside from my coworkers very few here like me. I doubt they’ll accept anything I hand them.”

Josh offers a soft smile and, “Don’t worry about it. If it gets to be a problem we’ll hand out the gifts. But this could help your reputation.”

“Josh is right.” Simon assures. “It’s not fair for them to judge you and Connor on your past. We’ve all done things we’d rather not have brought up. And if Markus trusts you they should come around.”

They interject themselves into almost every conversation they can, offering the small gifts to anyone who will take them. Everyone is willing when Josh and Simon hand them over. When he tries? Hesitation. Confusion. Fear. Why should they trust the Deviant Hunter? Only ever after looking once more at Simon and Josh beside him do they take the risk and a gift, and only ever thanking the New Jericho representatives, never him.

Oh well. It doesn’t matter. He keeps reminding himself of that. Their opinions don’t matter. What matters are those of his allies, his new friends, and they trust him. It’s fine. It’s absolutely fine. As the number of gifts among them dwindles Josh reassures the deviants (and him) less and less, and by the last few gifts two familiar faces come down the staircase.

“Markus!” Simon calls out excitedly, waving him over.

“Hey, welcome back.” Josh adds and with a nod toward the android beside their leader, “You too, Connor.”

He offers his predecessor a wave with a free hand. “Look who finally decided to stop hiding. Get your ass over here and help out.” Despite his rude tone no-one berates him, likely because Connor’s smile assures them this is their typical dynamic, no harm meant.

His predecessor and Markus walk over together, Markus taking the last few gifts that Simon holds out for him. “Thank you for the help, everyone. You’ve done a wonderful job setting this all up. What are these anyway?” One of the boxes is held up with a curious glance, then handed to Connor.

Connor takes the offered gift with a smile and opens it before anyone has a chance to answer. Inside the small box is a plastic ornament of a red upside-down incomplete triangle; the logo of both iterations of Jericho.

“It’s not much,” Josh says. “But for everyone here it’s a reminder of hope and to stay strong.”

“An ideal to cling to when feeling lost.” Simon adds. “You’re making progress Markus and we all believe in you, but it’s slow going. We wanted to keep people’s spirits up during the holidays and beyond.”

“That’s a nice idea.” Connor says, pocketing his ornament and smiling at the group. “You’re all doing great things.” He can see the strain in his predecessor’s smile. The way it doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows this thought process as it’s his own. They aren’t worthy of even being here, let alone helping. The crew here is taking such progressive strides supporting Markus and his work, meanwhile he and his predecessor are simply surviving. Neither should be here, even with Simon’s assurance the past has no bearing on the present. If that were true they wouldn’t be avoided like a virus and Connor wouldn’t have such blatant self-esteem issues around Markus.

Markus nods and gently puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “You are doing great things too, just in a different capacity. Don’t you ever sell yourself short. Your work is helping to normalize human-android relations and promote equality. Please don’t forget that.” Determined eyes shift his way. “Either of you.” A pause as he removes his hand from Connor and gives the group a bright smile. “Now let’s lighten up. This is a time for joy so let’s go and spread some.” Thus the group heads back to the main gathering area to hand out the rest of the gifts.

Christmas is a strange holiday with confusing human traditions that most deviants seem to want to follow. He still doesn’t comprehend it. But if it leads to such happiness from those around him then it must be a good thing. Perhaps Simon has a point that the past no longer matters. He was activated to kill Connor and if given the opportunity, Markus. Yet here he is with both of them, watching Markus smile and laugh and talk to the deviants with such ease, inviting him and Connor to join the conversation whenever possible.

He was meant to destroy this.

He wasn’t meant for happiness. He wasn’t designed to have friends. He was supposed to ensure none of this came to pass. There are people here he would have killed given the chance. People Connor was supposed to capture and send off to Cyberlife.

When he was activated he’d run thousands of pre-constructions to establish a course of action. None of them, not a single one, had even a hint of an outcome like this. It’s fascinating how easily things can change.

Proximity sensors forewarn him to two presences drawing near and the sudden arm around his shoulders, thus rather than startling he simply turns to the source and smirks. “Finally decided to get your ass up and join the fun I see.”

North shrugs with her free arm. “Well if you all can do it I can do it better.” She moves to take one of his gifts but since he is out she nabs one from Josh’s arms. He doesn’t look pleased but says nothing about it. No the person who does is the android who headed over with her. “You could ask you know,” Jonah reprimands, brows furrowed in either frustration or disappointment. Possibly both. “It’s better to do that, and less rude.” 

She completely ignores him and calls out to any androids without a gift, getting the only YK500 without a present rushing up to her. The girl stares at North with wide eyes, then shifts to look at him. For once there isn’t fear, just curiosity.

North laughs, and apparently has an idea as she forces her hat onto him and hands him back the gift. “And why am I doing your job for you, Santa?”

A survey of the group shows smiles all around, several laughs held back, and Connor’s childish glee at the sight. He looks back down to the girl who asks, “You’re Santa? You don’t look like him.”

He wants to tell the truth. He’s about to until he remembers what Simon, Josh, and Markus have kept mentioning. This time of year is apparently meant to be hopeful. That and he can see the way Markus is looking at him. Fine. He won’t expose the girl to the harshness of reality, if only so he doesn’t get berated for his attitude. “I’m assisting him. He’s quite busy.” he tells the girl, holding out the box with her ornament. “Here. Merry Christmas.”

She slowly takes the gift, gives him a suspicious look, then returns to her friends playing across the room. He offers North a frustrated frown. “Happy now?”

“You could’ve tried harder.”

“At least he tried, and that’s good enough.” Simon assures.

When North removes her arm from him Josh gives him a pat. “You did good. We can work on your social skills.”

“It’s fine.” Markus corrects. “Some people aren’t good with children, but they don’t have to be.” A soft smile his direction. “You’ve made progress since I last saw you.” The same smile at his predecessor. “I’m proud of you both.” Mismatched eyes shift to every member of the group. “All of you, in fact. We’ve all come so far. Thank you for sticking around to see this through.”

“Always.” Simon replies, almost reverently.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Josh cheerfully adds.

“We’re with you to the end.” North dramatically chimes in.

“Of course. I’m always happy to help in whatever ways possible.” Typical Jonah; friendly but long-winded.

“Thank you for allowing me to.” Connor’s bright eyes finally join his smile. “I’ll do my best.”

Might as well join the chain. “It’s not an easy mission but I will accomplish it.”

With arms spread wide Markus attempts to envelop them in a group hug. It doesn’t quite work but the gesture is understood. “Happy holidays, everyone.”

Human traditions and holidays baffle him, but perhaps he could come to appreciate this one...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jericrew aside from North are rather difficult for me to write, so apologies if someone sounds a bit off.
> 
> Also, Merry Christmas! :D


	25. Sweater

“Alright, let’s get this over with…”

“Hank, we don’t have to do this.” Connor returns the gift from his lap to the space beneath the tree, casting a concerned gaze on the Lieutenant who sits between the two androids in their triangle on the floor. “If you’d prefer we not make a big deal out of it we can open them later or when you’re asleep.”

Connor’s attachment showing itself again. They both figured that another Christmas without his family would leave the Lieutenant in a sour mood. They’d agreed beforehand to do whatever he asks, within reason of course. All Connor wants is to see the man who saved him happy. All  _ he _ wants is to see the man who shot him shut up and accept his predecessor’s affection.

With a huff the Lieutenant grabs the gift Connor had just returned and shoves it back into the android’s lap. “It’s fine.” It’s obviously not. He’s trying to power through for the sake of his housemates. “Just wasn’t sure what to get you two. Not sure you’ll like ‘em.” an excuse if there ever was one but he’s not about to acknowledge it and make the man’s mood even worse.

Connor offers that familiar soft smile. “I will like anything you get me, Hank. How could I not enjoy a gift from you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quit being a sap and open it, Connor.”

His predecessor looks down at the gift, a messily wrapped shiny green box with way too much tape, reads the tag, announces it’s from the Lieutenant, and methodically peels off the tape to properly open the gift without ripping the wrapping paper.

“Oh for god’s sake Connor you can rip it...” the Lieutenant reaches forward to help, thinks better of it, and pulls his hand back.

Connor blinks owlishly at him, a slight head tilt, and looks back down at the gift. For once he wants his predecessor to listen to the Lieutenant or they’ll be here all night. Finally with a determined nod Connor rips the rest of the paper off and opens the box. With a gasp and delighted grin he pulls forth a bright yellow sweater with a large cartoonish smiling dog printed on the front. Connor immediately puts it on over his t-shirt and just  _ beams. _ “Thank you, Hank! It’s wonderful!”

“It’s hideous.” he comments before the Lieutenant can reply.

Unfortunately the smug grin he gets while being handed a poorly tied white bag with a  _ lot _ of blue ribbon has him worried. It’s a soft bag so the gift must be fabric. It’s also from the Lieutenant. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

_ “Oh but I did.” _

STRESS LEVELS ^

84%

Connor and the Lieutenant watch with rapt attention as he opens the bag, reaches inside, and pulls out a sweater of his own; black with red and white snowflakes and detailing and written in large white letters, NAUGHTY UNTIL PROVEN NICE.

He deflates.

Meanwhile the Lieutenant is trying not to crack up and Connor is stifling a giggle behind a hand. With a loud and obnoxious sigh he pulls it over his head, knowing that the Lieutenant will be on his case until he joins Connor in the hideous sweater club. At least his has a police pun. The one positive. Once it’s on he gives the Lieutenant a flat stare. “Happy?” he deadpans.

“You look great, kid.”

“It is rather fitting.” Connor observes, looking him up and down in the offending garment. “I think Hank chose well.”

“I think Hank can fuck off.” he gripes, crossing his arms and glaring at his predecessor.

He can catch Connor’s disappointed frown before the ensuing, “That’s not a good attitude toward someone who has been so kind to you.”

He barks a laugh. “Oh that’s funny! You think it all makes up for attempted murder?”

“Yes! Hank has done nothing but help since you showed up again! And  _ I _ forgave  _ you _ for attempted murder! People can change!”

“ _ You _ didn’t end up  _ permanently damaged! _ ”

“BOYS!” At the loudest voice in the room both androids cease arguing and turn to the Lieutenant who continues in a quieter tone, “Thank you. Now Connor he’s got every right to be forever pissed at me. I would be too in his position.” The glance he receives before focusing on Connor sends an uncomfortable crackle through his system. “But that doesn’t mean you need to argue about it. You can have different opinions without shouting at each other, okay?”

Connor shifts his gaze to the floor. “My apologies, Hank.”

“Thank you. And  _ you, _ ” Impressive glare, Lieutenant. “Need to stop antagonizing your brother. Your problem is with me. Don’t drag him into it. Got it?”

An overdramatic eyeroll that utilizes his entire head, shoulders slumping but arms remain folded, as he falls back against the couch like a grumpy teenager. “ _ Yes, _ Lieutenant.” Why is that electric buzz still there?

“How the fuck do people handle twins...”

In an effort to get things back on track, and likely to make peace between them before the Lieutenant decides to start drinking, Connor reaches for another gift under the tree. “Perhaps we should open the rest?”

The Lieutenant looks over at Connor as if his train of thought just shut down. “Huh? Oh, sure. Who’s that one from?”

The gift in Connor’s hands is a red box, perfectly wrapped. He would know. “It’s from me.” he says, voice muffled as he slides down the front of the couch, new sweater riding up and covering his mouth. Hm. Despite the terrible fashion the material is soft, warm, and seems to quell the crackle of electricity that’s been running through him since the argument.

STRESS LEVELS  V

72%

“Oh, thank you!” Connor proceeds to work the tape off for a moment until he apparently recalls the Lieutenant’s words and just rips the paper. He pulls out a foot-long plush tropical fish and like yesterday at New Jericho the way his eyes light up…

Sometimes all he needs in life is to see his predecessor happy.

“Thank you! It’s so soft!” Connor exclaims, hugging the toy to his chest.

“Whaddya gonna name it?” The Lieutenant asks.

Connor ponders it for a moment before blurting out, “Dewey.”

The Lieutenant chuckles. “As good a name as any for a fish. Which one next?”

The next few gifts that get chosen are all from the Lieutenant to Connor and vice-versa so he tunes them out, sinking deeper into his sweater until he’s almost flat on the floor. It’s not a problem. Maybe the gift isn’t a problem either. He still hates how stupid it looks but the police joke is amusing. And it’s quite comfortable.

He’d never understood the need for more clothes. He had his uniform. Beyond that only one set of clothing was necessary while said uniform was cleaned. And then the Lieutenant had taken him shopping. The first time he’d ever discovered his preferences. Formalwear remains at the top of his list but he might have to reorganize and push sweaters up. The soft warmth of the fabric as it hugs his synthetic skin, almost like a real hug…

Ah. Maybe that’s it. Despite rarely returning the gesture he greatly appreciates Connor’s hugs. Though this fashion disaster of a gift is from the Lieutenant if he closes his eyes and moves his arms just right, he can earn the same feeling without Connor. It’s pleasant.

And the longer he stays suffused in the fabric the dimmer that uncomfortable crackle becomes until the only electricity in his system is what is meant to be there.

“Last one.” The Lieutenant’s voice echoes in his ears as he is shaken, the large hand on his shoulder jostling him out of the beginnings of standby mode.

“So?”

“It’s yours.”

“Another shitty sweater?”

“You seem to be liking this one. Almost passed out in it.” The Lieutenant smirks. “And no, it’s from Connor.”

He sits up properly and tugs the sweater down from his face to see his predecessor push a gift across the floor with the hand not holding Dewey; a box, neatly wrapped, Cyberlife blue. Connor knows his favorite color.

Unlike his predecessor he tears into the paper first thing, adding the remnants to the growing pile beside the couch. A glance inside the box and he locks up.

“Are you okay?” Connor’s voice is muffled.

“Yeah kid, you good?” The Lieutenant’s voice seems to be coming from another room.

Everything goes quiet, vision tunneling in on the contents of the box; three guns. Androids are not allowed to have guns. Connor has used them on cases but only by stealing them. This doesn’t make sense. He scans them against every database he can access. No matches. Finally, slowly, he reaches inside and pulls each one out, closely examining them. Oh.

An airsoft gun.

A foam dart gun.

A water gun.

All designed to look real but with enough differences that he won’t be arrested.

He turns to Connor and sees a slight slouch, a tight hug of Dewey, furrowed brows, and a miniscule head tilt. Nervousness. In turn he tries to allay this with a manic grin as he tests the feel of the airsoft gun in his hand by pointing it around the room. “This is perfect.” He eagerly swaps it out for the dart gun, then the water gun, testing each in turn. “They’re all perfect.” The manic grin is then trained back on Connor. “You know me so well!”

Though the Lieutenant looks rather horrified it quickly fades to exasperation. “Don’t go shootin’ anything in the house, you got that?”

“Yes, Lieutenant!”

Connor stands up, shifting Dewey to a one-armed grasp. “Care to test your aim on some water balloons in the yard?”

He hasn’t had a chance to shoot anything outside of VR since rebooting in Cyberlife Tower. “Obviously.” And ignoring the Lieutenant’s protest he grabs the airsoft gun and rushes toward the back door and out into the cold night air. He can  _ just _ hear Connor reasoning with the Lieutenant back in the house, then the sink being used at the same time as something large falling onto the couch.

None of that matters.

He can finally do something right.

Thanks to Connor.

He tugs the collar of his stupid sweater up to enjoy the warmth while he waits on his predecessor. Despite their argument this night went better than expected. He got two incredible gifts. Yes, two. He will give the Lieutenant endless shit for his taste in fashion but the sweater is soft and warm and that’s really all he cares about. And it fits his attitude. And the police joke is humorous. Alright fine he likes the sweater. He just won’t ever admit it to the Lieutenant’s face. He can’t. He won’t let himself.

He is winter.

~~It’s all he’s ever known~~.

The thaw is slow,

But spring is on the horizon,

Heralded by a cargo ship, a lava flow, and a plastic cop.

“I’ve got the balloons! I’ll toss them and you fire. Let’s see if you’re still an excellent shot!”

“I’m at least as skilled as you.”

“Care to take that bet?”

“You’re on.”

He is winter.

But winter need not be cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Merry Christmas!!
> 
> Also, Connor's sweater is my original creation but Sixty's is [all too real.](https://www.tipsyelves.com/mas_assets/cache/image/4/d/5/b/19803/Mens-sweater-naughty-nice-02.Jpg) The second I saw that I knew it had to be done XD


	26. Pets

“We'll have to take a detour.” Connor gently tugs on the leash to coax the dog into following them.

“Why?”

“So Sumo doesn't freeze.”

“His fur is meant to keep him warm. He'll be fine.”

“Our thermoregulators do the same but we can still freeze.”

“Fair point.”

“Hmm. Maybe I should carry him over the ice?”

He sighs, grabs the leash, and tugs. The dog barks once but starts moving after that, likely wanting to get back to the house. “Don't be an idiot, Connor.”

As they begin walking again his predecessor frowns. “I wasn't. It's rather cold out and Sumo doesn't have anything to keep his paws warm.”

“I reiterate; fur.” The ensuing silence is almost deafening. He has to break it somehow. “Why does it matter? It's not even your dog. So what if he gets a bit cold? He'll survive.”

There's the familiar disappointment. “Sumo may not be my dog but I want him to be safe and happy all the same. He's family.”

And that confusing term again. “And if he wasn't?”

“I would still care. Why don't you?”

Well. There's a difficult question. Why doesn't he? He only cares to the extent of the dog's well-being affecting Connor and the Lieutenant. The animal means nothing to him outside of that connection. Yet here is Connor treating it like a person. Like it has its own importance.

It's not the only one. He's done this for other animals as well. The entire reason he got Connor that fish plush was because of the Philips case back in August with the broken aquarium. He would have walked right past it to continue with the mission. It wasn’t important. Connor stopped to rescue the dying fish. Why?

Then the deviant with the birds. While the Lieutenant pitched a fit over the pigeons and shooed them off Connor simply sidestepped them and gently ushered them away from whatever he needed to reach. He didn’t have to so again, why?

Then while waiting for the Lieutenant to join him so they could head to the Eden Club for a case he spent some time petting a sleeping Sumo in the living room.  _ Why? _

None of these actions were necessary. He would not have taken any of them. Connor had. Why are they so different? “I don't know.” Once more there is nothing but silence. It stretches for several blocks until finally he makes it snap. "I suppose you're simply a better deviant." Only deviants care about animals. That he knows. Is this the proof of his machine status that he so desperately seeks?

"Everyone adapts differently. There's no such thing as being better at deviancy. Or so I’ve been told."

A half-hearted shrug. "Perhaps. But I have no attachment to animals. You and most other deviants do. Case closed."

"Maybe we just need to find the right animal to pique your interest."

"Or maybe, once again, I simply won't give a shit.” They have no use to any of his outstanding missions. Sumo the dog is the only important one and again, only useful for keeping Connor and the Lieutenant in pleasant moods. He simply has no desire to care for another being that cannot provide back what he needs from a relationship. Oh. He may have just answered the question. “Animals can’t help me so I see no need to bother with them.” he summarizes for Connor.

The slight slump of the shoulders, the downward tug of the mouth, the faint crease in the brow, he will always recognize his predecessor’s ‘disappointed in you’ face. It’s fairly common after all. “Not everything is important just because it matters to you. Some things are important because they matter to others. Everything means something to someone.”

“Not always.”

“Well even if they don’t it doesn’t make them any less important.”

“I know.”

“Then why act like that?”

Yet again he doesn’t have an answer. Everything can be of vital importance in the right situation. But this simply isn’t it. Animals aren’t of enough importance in his situation. But they are to Connor and they are in practically the same situation… “Maybe I’m broken in more ways than we thought.”

Connor’s disappointed frown shifts to something sadder. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I’m damaged.”

“Maybe physically…” Connor switches the leash to his other hand so he can use his now free one to take hold of his brother’s. “But that’s not what matters. Please don’t put yourself down. Life is confusing I know, but you’re doing well. Please don’t insult yourself.”

That’s… It’s always a warmly pleasant surprise when Connor shows that he cares. So of course the second that warmth rushes through his system he has to deflect it, hide that he cares too. Machines aren’t supposed to care. “This is me, take it or leave it Connor."

The light laugh from his predecessor is another pleasant warmth in the frosty air. “I'll take it. But only if you promise to try.”

An over-dramatic eyeroll. “Fine. Now can we get back inside before the Lieutenant starts to think we kidnapped his dog?”


	27. Candles

He hates when his optics malfunction…

“Has anyone got that damn generator working‽” Captain Fowler’s voice cuts through the darkness and he wishes the man would keep shouting, if only to stave off the chill running through his wires.

“It’s busted, sir!” Officer Chen returns the shout. Footstep pattern indicates she’s running closer. “Maintenance was contacted yesterday but until then we’ve got to suffer through.”

“We can’t. We’re a police station!” A tense pause. “Route all incoming calls through the androids. The patrol ones anyway. Got a fiasco goin’ on with the RK unit over here.”

“Yes, sir.” Footsteps shuffle. “Erica! Johnathan!” Voice quieter. She must have moved. “With me!” A lot of footsteps follow with two voices affirming their actions. Then they fade into the distance.

He’s left to the haunting, silent dark once more. Reaching for his lighter only goes so far as he cannot see the flame. What good will it do him? Feeling it in his hands is not enough. With a click familiar dubstep music fills his audial receptors, blasting hard and loud, but never to be heard outside his mind. Still not enough. It can’t remove the dark.

“You supposed to be vibrating?” Oh! That’s Gavin’s voice!

“No, detective.” He shuts off the music and thus stops shaking.

“Good. Androids can see in the dark, right? My phone’s dead. Need your help finding my spare battery.”

“Unfortunately I cannot help you.” The silence leads him to assume Gavin is gesturing in an expectant way. But the dark is taking hold. He can’t keep the quaver out of his voice when he continues, “I’m… currently unable to see…”

A deep sigh. “Fuck. You break at the worst times, you know that?”

“That’s… what comes of brain damage…”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Why not ask Heather?” She’ll be the only android unoccupied. Why hadn’t Gavin gone to her first?

A chair scoots along the floor. Footsteps start and fade. He can only assume Gavin has done as he suggested. He’s alone once more. Alone in the dark. Like the warehouse. Error messages. Bleeding out. Black. Red. Liquid blue.

Arms wrap around in a cheap imitation of a hug. It’s not Connor. It’s not working. Scoot up against the wall? More surface covered? Still not helping. Music then. Bring back the music. Turn it up, up, up. 

Still not helping.

Focus on the errors? On the red? Anything to escape the dark.

Play that memory, the one of Amanda, over and over again. Anything to escape the dark.

Still not helping.

_ It burns. He’s bleeding out. Lying on the floor, thirium dripping from his head as his vision goes dark and all he sees is black, red, and liquid blue. _

_ It burns. _

_ It’s pitch dark. _

_ He’s dying. _

_ It burns. _

_ It’s pitch dark. _

_ He’s dying. _

_ It burns. _

_ It’s pitch dark. _

_ He’s— _

“Why the fuck are you hiding under your desk?” Gavin?

“Are you okay? You’re shaking!” Heather?

“I am…” Lie? There’s no point. They’ve seen. His dignity can’t be saved. “Not functioning well.”

“No shit, Toaster.”

“What happened?” Heather sounds concerned. That’s nice.

“He’s fucking blind that’s what.” Gavin comments.

“Don’t be rude.” Heather snips. “You’re shaking. Are you scared? Of what?” Oh. Those questions must be directed at him.

“Malfunctioning. I’m malfunctioning.”

“Told you.” Gavin snips back. “It’s cause he’s fuckin’ blind. Never thought you a scaredy-cat, Toaster.”

“I’m not… I can’t… It’s dark…” He can’t think straight. It’s dark. It’s dark. It’s dark.

“Hey!” His head is jerked to the side. Scrambled data triggers pain. Did Gavin just smack him? “Don’t go senile on me you plastic prick! Focus!”

He can’t focus. Every time there’s no distraction the void threatens to consume him. It’s dark. It’s dark. It’s dark.

Suddenly a hand in his. Smooth skin. Small fingers. Heather? She squeezes, a gesture to confirm her presence. “It’s okay. Breathe with me. In, and out. In, and out. Please try. Like this. In—”

He mimics her. In and out. Slow down your ventilation. Don’t destroy yourself. In and out. In the corner of his HUD stress levels start to fall. It’s working. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Please keep breathing like that. It will help, I promise.”

“You’re not the only one here in the dark.” Gavin’s comment is followed by arms under his, to which he helps by attempting to stand up. Rough hands then grab his shoulders and clumsily maneuver him into his chair. There is a crash after that and a light laugh. Heather’s. He suspects Gavin to have fallen over in the attempt to help. He cracks a smile, likely only for Heather’s eyes.

_ He’s fine. _ she sends cybernetically.  _ I’m glad he came to get me. _

_ He went to you because you can be his flashlight. Not because he cared.  _ Unfortunately. He knows his taste in friends is shit.

_ Actually he said he didn’t know what to do with a glitchy android and asked for help. He’s pretty skilled with components but not processor problems. I think he does care. He’s just very rude most of the time if you’re not Tina. _

_ Good assessment. Thank you. _ A surprise, but a welcome one to be sure.

_ You’ve stopped shaking. Feeling better? _

Oh. He must have turned off the music at some point.  _ Somewhat. _

_ That’s better than a no. _

“Hey Toaster, why’d you go blind? I might be able to take a stab at fixing your eyes.” In the dark, Gavin? That sounds horrifying. “I mean not now cause I can’t fuckin’ see either but later. If you want.”

“I told you. Brain damage. My central processor took a bullet.”

“Oh. right. You’re probably just fucked then.”

“Detective!” Heather sounds affronted on his behalf. This is rather amusing. “We have to be optimistic!”

“No he’s right.” he says in what he thinks is Heather’s general direction. “I’m fucked.”

“See‽” Oh, Gavin.

“But I’m dealing with it.” he finishes. “How long will this storm last?”

A pause.

“Detective, he can’t see you shrug.” A quiet sigh. “I’ll try to find some flashlights and thermal blankets. Please stay with him.” Heather’s footsteps start and fade out.

“Your offer is appreciated,” he assures Gavin. “Regardless of its actual feasibility.”

“Well thanks. Always wanted to be appreciated by a talking toaster.”

That brings forth a snicker as he adjusts himself in his chair, aiming to feel something familiar.

Familiar footsteps return and the tell-tale crinkle of a thermal blanket is heard. Presumably for Gavin as the humans are in more danger from the cold. Confirmed when the man utters a quiet,  “Thanks.”

Then something cylindrical is deposited in his lap. Picking it up and feeling it reveals a flashlight. He clicks it on, ignores the exclamations indicative of having shined it in his coworkers’ eyes, and aims the large end toward himself. And waits.

If he waits long enough he’ll begin to see a light in the dark. That’s how he’ll know this nightmare is ending.

But if he’s honest he’s already had two lights break through the darkness. If Connor were here shared memories and/or data would be enough. He’s not close enough for Heather to try that and Gavin simply can’t. Despite that they have both done so much to distract him, to keep the void from drowning all he is in black, red, and liquid blue as his mind burns away.

They’ve kept that from him.

They’ve been lighthouses, guiding him out of the dark.

And there’s the golden light breaking through. “I think my vision is returning.”

“Fucking finally!” Gavin exclaims. “That mean I can have the flashlight? I still can’t see shit.”

“Patience, detective.” Heather reprimands. “He’ll hand it over when he’s ready.”

“Fine…”

When the last of the darkness ebbs away he aims the flashlight at the floor. It’s enough to shine on the space around him, revealing a gently smiling Heather standing before him and beside her a smirking Gavin curled up in a thermal blanket in a chair he must have wheeled over. “Thank you, both.”

“You’re welcome!”

“You owe me one.”

He certainly does. There are many things to drive away an encroaching void; lighthouses, flashlights, candles, etc. What you use doesn’t matter. Only that you use it.

That’s what they’ve provided for him;

Lights in the dark.


	28. Bells

“Get down!”

“Toss him the gun! He’s got better aim!”

“How in the fuck did they get in‽”

All he remembers is clips of conversations among the chaos. His entire system had been glitching so the memory archive is no good. Too many bits with corrupted or no visuals, same for audio, and sometimes both. A group of anti-android nutjobs had somehow gotten weapons into the station. Central Station has been severely understaffed since the evacuation in November. What little force remained had hidden in the interrogation rooms or behind whatever desks they could find while the mess was solved.

“That’s the one from TV!”

“I said stay down!”

“Lieutenant, your weapon please.”

“I said hand him the gun!”

Was it him or Connor who had taken the shot? Both of them? Where had the gun gone? He’d been hit in return. He knows that much. It’s the only explanation for the incessant ringing. He’s prone to glitches but of the audial kind it’s always been static. Tinnitus is new and he needs it to stop. It’s interfering with his recall.

“There’s two of ‘em‽”

“Move you idiot!”

“Holy shit!”

“Are you damaged?”

It’s all registering in bits and pieces, errors and corruption in-between. And that damn ringing. Whatever happened he can tell he’s currently on the floor behind Officer Chen’s desk with a tense Erica who is attempting to remain still enough that the collection of keychains on her belt doesn’t jingle. He won’t judge deviants their strange habits but this is not the best time for that particular one.

Across the bullpen using the filing cabinets as cover Johnathan, calm as ever, peeks out, then glances back at Erica. A cybernetic communique to both of them;  _ Do you have access to a gun? _

_ No not really. _ Erica quickly replies.

His answer is just a terse,  _ No. _

Androids aren’t allowed guns. The three of them, no four, Connor is here somewhere, are shit out of luck. Unless Connor has the one he’d used earlier. If that had been Connor at all. It’s all a mess...

That’s all that makes sense until a familiar  **_bang_ ** and a scream echo through the station. Red stains the floor of the bullpen. Dark jeans rush past, parkour over another desk, and a gun goes skittering across the floor. The next shot is followed by a familiar, “Fuck off you assholes!” and the next intruder goes down. Both in the knees. Non-lethal force. Again the gun goes skittering across the floor.

Johnathan looks back at Erica. Stands up to provide a distraction. She slides back under the desk and shoves the gun in his hands. Something about better aim? Already difficult to hear. The ringing isn’t helping. The second Johnathan dives back behind the cabinets he stands up, aims, and fires. Or hopes he does. He can’t hear the gun go off, just that damn ringing getting louder.

“Got ‘em all!”

“Fucking finally!”

“It’s safe now?”

“Who the hell gave the androids a gun‽”

“It got the job done.”

“How did they get in?”

“Not the problem.”

“Can you hear me?”

That last voice clip is repeated twice. Are they referring to him? He turns to the source, or who he hopes is the source, and shakes his head. No, he can only hear in pieces loud enough to overcome the piercing ring. “My head seems to be stuck in ‘bell’ mode.” he snarks, looking around the room. “I don’t want to know. Not until I stop glitching.” He shuffles through the bullpen, stepping around the injured intruders, and returns to his desk as if nothing had happened. And his vision resumes cutting out in time with the ringing.

“Connor took the shot?”

“Both of them—”

“—heard Gavin shout—”

“They’re okay, right?”

“—he dead?”

“—fuckin’ kneecapped—”

“I’ll go check on—”

A somewhat familiar presence stops beside his desk. The PC200, Johnathan. “Your aim is excellent.”

“Thanks.” He tries to focus on his terminal. Still too chaotic.

“While this mess is dealt with the Captain wishes to speak with you, Connor, and Detective Reed.” And then he’s gone back to charging station seven. Others have joked that Johnathan is less deviant than him. It’s certainly possible. Not the point.

With a sigh and a hand on his desk to steady him when his vision cuts out he makes his way up the steps to Captain Fowler’s office. Connor and Gavin are already inside. The Captain standing behind his desk seems conflicted. “I’ll deal with the negatives first. Who gave the androids a gun? You all know the laws.”

“Captain,” Connor starts to explain. “certain situations would be better handled if we were armed like human officers, and Markus is attempting to get the laws changed.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Connor. I put my ass on the line to have you and your brother working here at all. I can’t afford any more slip-ups. Where did you get the gun?”

Connor frowns and shifts his gaze to the floor. “It was Lieu—”

“I gave it to him.” Gavin interrupts.

Everyone in the room turns to him in surprise.

He just shrugs. “What? He’s got killer aim and it was a straight shot to slide it over to him.”

Why is Gavin lying for Connor? In this case that includes covering for Lieutenant Anderson. What gives? Captain Fowler seems just as suspicious when he asks, “If it was your gun why not shoot first? Why give it to Connor at all?”

“I don’t wanna get investigated for murder. He was at a better angle for kneecapping the bastard. Then his partner got in the fucking way and I had the best shot so he gave it back.”

Partially true. Gavin had been the second to fire at the intruders after Connor parkoured across the bullpen. But again, why lie to save face for people he doesn’t care about? Hard to think. Too much ringing. It drowns out the rest of the discussion until he’s brought into the mix, and even then he only catches part of it.

A part he needs to lie about as well. Erica only handled the weapon enough to get it to him. Still technically illegal. A month ago he wouldn’t have bothered. Today? Erica remained after the revolution. Dedicated herself to her job. He can respect that. “Seven and Five provided a distraction,” He knows the Captain hasn’t bothered to remember Johnathan and Erica’s names, only their charging stations. “while Connor got the weapon to me.”

“And why?”

“I can’t say, sir. I sustained damage in the scuffle and my memory is one of many glitching components at the moment.”

A deep sigh that his audial processors shift into an awful screech and he reaches up to claw at his right ear, attempting to rip the processor out. He’d rather be temporarily deaf than have a constant ringing mutilating various sounds into painful data.

He can vaguely hear the Captain telling them something about being proud of them all regardless of the messy situation, but what he registers most is Connor removing his hand from his ear and giving a gentle push in that spot instead. With a click the piercing ring stops.  _ What did you do? _

_ The chip had been dislodged when you were thrown back against the desk. Is everything alright now? _

_ Yes. Thank you. _

He thinks they were all ushered out of the Captain’s office but he doesn’t remember it happening. Hopefully this is a temporary problem. He’ll call Jonah later to ask about it. Until then it seems he can return to work.

Or not. Gavin stops them in the middle of the bullpen by yanking their jackets back. “Hold up. You plastic pricks owe me. Anderson too.”

Connor offers a weak smile as he easily wrenches free of Gavin’s grip. “Of course, Detective Reed. I’m sure we can come to an agreement. I’ll let Lieutenant Anderson know.” And off he goes.

“Perhaps I can settle my debt tomorrow?” he asks once Connor is busy with the Lieutenant.

Gavin gives him an odd look.

“The arcade.” he elaborates. “You agreed.”

“Oh shit I forgot. Yeah sure, I guess that’ll work. I’m gonna kick your ass anyway.” A pause before returning to their desks. “Who cleared the assholes out? And where’s Tina?”

“Perhaps those two questions are linked?”

A pissed off shout as Officer Chen can be seen down the hall dragging one of the injured intruders toward an interrogation room. The more he struggles the more shit she gives him. No doubt someone else is calling a hospital for the gunshot wounds. Until then she’ll have one hell of a day.

They all have actually. He wouldn’t mind more action like this. Despite his program troubles he was built for both investigation and combat and there has been a severe lack of the latter. This was invigorating. Except for getting his head treated like a damn bell. He’ll be sure to run more pre-constructions from now on, even if his memory is compromised.

_ Aside from that however, _

He returns to his desk with a smile.

_ That was fun. _


	29. Dance

Sidestep, duck, spin, shoot. Back to back in perfect harmony. Dodge, spin, duck, shoot. It’s almost like a dance. Bang, bang, “Two-o-clock!”, “On your left!” One might think they’d practiced for years. “Four-thirty!”, “I see ‘em!”, bang, bang. One would be forgiven for thinking thus. Sidestep, dodge, “That only counts as one!” It’s a simple matter of prediction. Dodge, spin, “I will always have better aim.” It’s always just been prediction. Sidestep, duck, spin, shoot. “Fucking hell!”

FINAL SCORE

GAV: 340

COL: 582

But it has to be more. None of his pre-constructions veered anywhere close to this direction. He’s walking an unknown path here, variables scrambled beyond saving. When the game exits he returns the lightgun to the stand, pulls off the VR headset, and looks over at his partner. Gavin seems rather pissed about the score discrepancy, even with his eyes obscured by the visor. He does pull it off soon after, returning it to the stand. The lightgun remains in his hand as a crumpled expression is trained on him. “Another reason I fucking hate androids; you cheat.”

“I told you when we started that I’m not hacking the game. I’m simply better than you.”

“Well then you got it all memorized or some shit! You said you played with, what’s-her-face, South?”

“North.” he corrects, narrowing his eyes. “And the levels are randomized.”

Gavin scowls but after several seconds it becomes clear that it’s not real anger. Or at least, not directed outwards.

He steps closer and puts a hand on the man’s arm. “Don’t beat yourself up because my aim is better in a video game.”

Gavin shrugs him off. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not real life, it’s just a game.”

“Exactly! A game where I kicked your ass on level one.” His favored malicious grin earns him a glare that would stop the Lieutenant cold. But he’s not afraid of Gavin. He’s seen the detective’s soft side, learned things the man has never told anyone else. They’ve grown close with a shared attitude toward the world, even if neither dares press beyond.

Maybe it’s time he do so.

“Best two outta three.”

This could be that step. “Challenge accepted.”

Spin, dodge, a shot over his partner’s shoulder. Back to back and around they go, clearing out all enemies. Sidestep, duck, his partner saves him. They move in perfect sync. Dodge, spin, shoot. They turn to face each other and continue the dance, aiming over each other’s shoulders. Around and around, clearing the field. Duck, pull them down, shoot. Sidestep, shoot.

Take the hit for them.

“Fucking shit!”

FINAL SCORE

GAV: 651

COL: 778

“What are you complaining about?” he asks, electing to leave the headset on and speak to Gavin’s avatar. “We did much better this round.”

Said avatar aims their gun at him and he can feel the lightgun dig into his torso. “You still keep scraping ahead! How in the hell—”

“I die for you and you’re still pissed at me.” 

The gun lowers and the avatar vanishes. Gavin must have removed the headset so he does the same. The slouch is as familiar as the staring into the distance. He knows Gavin isn’t actually watching the kids across the way on the latest Super Smash Brothers. A hand is waved before his partner’s face. “Did I break you?”

A quick shake of his head and Gavin turns back to face him, brows furrowed. Yet he can tell there is more than frustration present here. “Why’d you take the hit? I could’ve dodged!”

“Your reaction time would not have sufficed.”

“You could’ve let me try! You knew a death meant game-over!”

“I refuse to let you die if I can prevent it.”

The silence is awkward. He knows he is bringing logic from reality into a video game. He knows it’s unnecessary. Gavin doesn’t comment though. Just the ghost of a smile and a familiar sigh. “Fuckin’ Toaster gettin’ all sentimental on me.”

“I apologize. I won’t risk my life for you again.”

“That’s not what I said, you dumbass. Quit fucking with me!”

“But you’re so fuckable.”

The instant red and coiled rage is worth the comment. He puts the headset and lightgun down, cackles, sees his HUD provide an escape objective upon realization that a fight will damage the equipment, and makes a break for the kids across the way. Gavin may be an utter asshole but he won’t try anything around children.

“Oh, mister you came over! That’s great!” One of the kids comments, putting his controller down and looking up at him with glee.

He quirks a brow. “How so?”

“Well I wanted to play the zombie game but my friends are too scared.” The other three kids still playing Smash look his way as though the kid just tattled on them, one girl sticks her tongue out, and they start the match without their friend. The kid ignores it and continues, “I was gonna come over and ask but I didn’t wanna interrupt and your boyfriend seems grumpy.”

His LED flashes red for a split second.

Boyfriend?

Before he can answer Gavin stomps his way over. And notices the children. Gaze focuses on the one not playing. “Hey, kid. The talkin’ toaster bothering you?”

The kid pouts. “That’s not nice!” And turns to him instead of Gavin. “No wonder you left him at the game. Are you gonna break up?”

Gavin’s face goes red again and he holds back a laugh at the sight, but there is no rage in the detective’s posture this time. Just confusion when he gets asked, “Did you tell him we’re dating?” Oh he can work with this.

“I didn’t mention anything, Gav.” he says with a smirk. Use Tina’s nickname for extra points. “He’s a smart kid who saw the argument.”

A frustrated sigh but no denial and the red tint remains. Progress? Does he actually want that kind of progress? Gavin's words shut down said thought process. “Look kid, if he’s not bothering you why aren’t you playing with your friends?”

“I wanna play the zombie game and they’re all scaredy-cats. Can I join you guys?”

“Sure, why not?” Who knew the detective has a soft spot for children? Is it because the man is so childish himself? Then again he’s seen him argue vehemently with kids at the station. Perhaps it’s only for well-behaved children or those with similar attitudes… Gavin glances his way and asks, “You cool with a third player?”

It’s something of a surprise. And if he’s honest so is the child treating him like a human. His Cyberlife jacket and LED make it blatantly obvious he’s not yet they don’t seem to care. Perhaps he should lessen the amount of resistance he expects in public areas. With a nod he acquiesces. “I suppose we can accommodate another team member.” 

“Thanks!” the child shouts, excitedly rushing over to the VR station.

He and Gavin follow suit to find the boy already tugging the headset over his eyes. “What’s your name, kid?” Gavin asks.

“I’m Ethan! Where did you guys get so good at shooters?”

Gavin puts on his best smug grin. “We’re cops.”

“Cool!”

Once they’ve all got their equipment on Gavin leans close enough to whisper to him, “Protect the asset or I’ll decommission your plastic ass. Got it?”

This wasn’t at all how he predicted the outing would go. A small part of him is frustrated at the human child for interfering but vanishes quickly. That is his own fault. A larger percentage is glad of the opportunity to study new sides to his potential partner. An even larger percentage is simply excited to be having fun. It’s a novel concept that he can enjoy himself. Even more that he’ll allow himself to revel in the feeling. Then again he was built with guns in mind. It’s no wonder this game feels so right.

Perhaps even more than when he played with North.

“Understood, detective.” he whispers back and starts the round.

It’s a far clumsier dance with an asset to protect. Sidestep, cover, shoot. But not once does the kid die. Duck, spin, cover, shoot. Sometimes Gavin guides the kid’s aim. Dodge, cover, shoot. Sometimes he gives the android orders. Sidestep, spin, cover, shoot. Back to back as a triangle they move. Spin, duck, cover, shoot. Then facing each other with the kid in the middle. Spin, cover, shoot.

It only ends when one of them gets shot.

When Gavin takes the hit for him.

FINAL SCORE:

GAV: 776

COL: 891

ETN: 435

“You give me shit for being a sentimental martyr yet here you are doing the same.” he smirks.

Surprisingly, Gavin smirks back. “Yeah well you’re not half-bad, Toaster.”

From below a young voice interjects, “You’re not supposed to insult him!”

The adults look down and finding another opportunity to fuck with his favorite detective he takes it and tells Ethan, “It’s not an insult. That’s how he shows his love. Someday you’ll understand.”

Ethan’s determined expression is rather amusing. “Okay then. When I do I’ll come by the police station and tell you!”

“You do that.” he replies with a smirk. “Have a good afternoon.”

With a wave and a, “Bye!” Ethan runs off, leaving just him and a silent Gavin.

Silent, red-tinted face, clenched fists, furrowed brow, all signs point to the earlier incident repeating. “I take it back.” Gavin says flatly. “You  _ are _ a plastic prick.”

He can’t hold back the laugh this time. “And? You cannot deny how well we work together. You also make an excellent partner.” Perhaps he does want this kind of progress? He takes up a lightgun in one hand, wraps the other around Gavin’s waist and twirls them around, aiming the lightgun at various games in the distance while keeping close enough to Gavin’s face to quietly ask, “Same time next week?”

A sudden absence in his arm and a lightgun in his chest. Gavin’s angry scowl. He offers a smile. The scowl slowly shifts to fond exasperation. “Anderson is right; fucking androids.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Detective Reed.” He hasn’t used the man’s formal title in quite some time. Hopefully this will elicit a proper response?

“You’re a fucking piece of work aren’t you?” A pause. Gavin puts the lightgun back. “Fine.”

A positive! And that's all it takes. Yes. He wants this. It's an unusual sort of electricicty humming along his wires. Unusual but comfortable. Almost like the buzz of Amanda's pride, of being given orders, of accomplishing a mission. It's the electric buzz of something _right,_ but warmer than usual. The heat he's learned to associate with North. The warmth of pleasant company. The combination is interesting and he hopes to feel it often in the future. So he too returns the lightgun to its proper place, tossing Gavin a teasing smile. “Does that mean you enjoyed yourself?”

“Don’t push your luck, Toaster.” 


	30. Gift

It shines in his hand, golden light reflecting into his eyes. Were Cyberlife still around he wouldn’t need this, but then he wouldn’t be here at all. It’s a symbol of accomplishment. Acknowledgement. He’s not a useless failure after all.

He knows he’s grinning like an idiot. It’s fine. Connor did the same when he received his earlier and went shouting at the Lieutenant. The entire station was proud of his predecessor. He slipped by unnoticed in turn. The grin is toned down. It’s fine. He doesn’t need their approval. He doesn’t need this validation.

~~ He wants it. ~~

~~ He desperately wants it. ~~

It’s not a big deal like Connor made it out to be. It’s just a symbol. A key. He’s functioned perfectly fine in his role thus far without it. Yes it will make future fieldwork far easier should he be on his own but that’s not such a big deal. It doesn’t matter.

It’s only a badge.

“Look at you!” At the familiarly gruff voice he looks up to see Lieutenant Anderson smiling at him. Though he can read pride it doesn’t have the same effect as Amanda’s proud smile. It never will. Nonetheless he appreciates it. “Connor’s bouncin’ off the walls like a kid on Christmas and here you are hidin’ at your desk like nothin’ happened.”

“Connor is easily excitable.”

“Ain’t an excuse for you to be so sullen. You should be proud of yourself, kid!” A gesture to the badge in his hands.

He follows and looks back down at it. It shines similar to his lighter. The golden gleam is somewhat mesmerizing. He stares for longer than intended as only the Lieutenant’s hand on his shoulder draws him out. “Yes, Lieutenant?” he asks, wondering if the man needs anything else. The conversation had finished after all.

Brows furrow. Edges of the mouth creep downward. A short sigh. “If you’re not gonna then I will for you.” Will what? The expression shifts back to something between pride and mischievous. “I’m proud of you for making it this far, Detective Colin.”

LED flashes red.

Slowly shifts to yellow as he, just as slowly, looks back down at the badge, now gripped rather tightly. Detective. A title he never expected. Paired with a name he never thought he’d have. He is more than RK800 #313-248-317-60. He is more than just another Connor. He is more than a machine.  ~~ Much as he may wish otherwise. ~~

He is a damaged but determined younger brother. He is a witty and tenacious friend. He is a jaded asshole that somehow doesn’t drive people away.  He is a deviant.

He is Detective Colin of the Detroit Police Department.

When Lieutenant Anderson removes their hand from his shoulder he steps back, offers the man a smile, and tightens his grip on the badge once more as if to confirm it’s real. Then, smile shifting to a smirk, he pulls his shirt up just enough to clip the badge to the left side of his belt. The same way Gavin wears it.

For the rest of the day he returns every smile he’s given, typical attitude and reputation be damned. He earned this. He fought for this title, this status, this proof that he means something to the world. That he’s more than a damaged failure. That he’s more than trash Cyberlife never bothered to toss out.

He is important.

He means something.

He is a detective.

In a city still reeling from November that is a pretty damned important mission to be assigned.

PRIMARY OBJECTIVES:

DISCOVER SELF

FULFIL POLICE DUTIES

A glance across the bullpen to Connor eagerly filling out reports while doing coin tricks in a free hand. He cannot see their badge so assumes Connor has placed it in his pocket like the Lieutenant. What a day. Detective for the DPD. It’s a pretty damned important mission. Luckily he’s not the only one accomplishing it. A partner is important and he’s got that in Gavin—currently giving him a cheeky grin after seeing where he’d clipped his badge. And closer than that, at a higher priority, a more important ally, is something he’d refused to admit for a long time; a brother.

Perhaps Connor was right that day at the tower.

_ ‘I thought nothing mattered except the mission. But then one day I understood.’ _

And perhaps that was the best gift he’s been given; a forceful opening of his eyes.

Though a police badge might just be better.

He’ll have to wait and see.


	31. Celebrate

If New Jericho’s Christmas party was a rather small and quiet affair their New Year party is much the opposite. Everyone had gathered on the upper deck of the ship to watch a firework display once the sky darkened. Until then it had been Markus giving a short speech,

_ “It’s been a long and difficult road for everyone but I want us all to celebrate that we are here now. No matter where we came from, how long we’ve been around, or what we’ve been through, we have made it. We are survivors, we are alive, and I promise you there is hope on the horizon. I want us all to carry that hope into the new year. So to everyone at New Jericho and beyond, here’s to a bright future in 2039!” _

the resulting cheers echoed out into the evening air, and once Markus stepped down it truly felt like a party. Or what he assumes based on research that a party should be. Androids cannot drink so there is no alcohol but there is a lot of conversation filled with excitement and revelry.

He still doesn’t feel like he belongs but Markus’ words do reach. His status as a deviant, whether he likes it or not, is thanks to Connor and Markus. And Markus is right; he’s a survivor. He should have died back in November when he was shot in the head. Instead here he is making a life for himself. He’s been active for less than two months but already made a lot of progress with his self-assigned missions. He’s allowed to feel that electric buzz of something  _ right, _ of pride in his work. Of progress.

A glance to his left reveals Simon and Josh talking with Markus as they head toward the back of the upper deck. Many unfamiliar androids are milling about, the YK500s being the most excited of them all. 

Up front an EM400 and a TW400 are setting up the pyrotechnics for the fireworks. The TW400 is a familiar model—used for construction—but the android himself is unfamiliar. The EM400 however he recognizes as having played with Cheryl during the Christmas party. Of course the android designed for amusement parks would latch on to the children and know something of pyrotechnics.

To his right among a crowd of many more unfamiliar androids he can see Jonah leading Cheryl across the deck toward the other YK500s, the hand he’s not holding gripping a box of crayons, a coloring book tucked under her arm. Several feet behind them and heading his way is North. “You made it!” she exclaims when she finally gets to him.

He shrugs as if he hadn’t planned to come. “I’ve never seen fireworks.”

“Neither have I so this should be a real treat!” Eyes to the sky. “Not long now. Will you stay until midnight?”

“I can’t. The police are understaffed and holidays can get rough. I’ll be joining them at the station after this.”

A crumpled expression that quickly reigns itself back to neutral. “Well at least you’re here for this. You know no matter what anyone else here might say, you’re a cool person.”

A smile that he really should show more often. “Same to you, North.” A pause as peripheral catches the TW400 and EM400 finishing. “It seems the show will be starting soon. Care to find a better vantage point?”

With an amused grin her hands go to her hips as she laughs. “They’ll be in the sky, you idiot. It doesn’t matter where you stand, just look up.” The dead look he gives her and the guilty frown in response indicate she finally gets his true meaning. “Right. Well, are you any good at parkour?”

“Let me think about that.” he starts sarcastically, “I was designed to chase criminals in a city and my predecessor did so across three rooftops dodging people, vehicles, heavy equipment, and jumping a moving train. So… maybe?” and ends with a smug smirk.

A quiet laugh as she takes his arm and leads him toward the back where Simon, Josh, and Markus had gone, but to a different staircase. He can only assume they must have gone somewhere else for a better view. “Follow my lead and we can get out one of the bridge windows, climb up, and sit on top to watch the show. We’ll be alone there.”

And she’s right. It’s not much effort to swing himself out a window, grab a protrusion above it, and get himself on top of the bridge after North. By then the sky is dark enough that just as he sits down beside her a streak of light shoots up and explodes, casting color over the dark.

“Wow!” She focuses on the lights while for the next several minutes he focuses on her, simply happy to be here in this moment with a close friend. Markus was right; they made it. When a bright explosion lights up her face in vivid red he smiles and turns toward the source.

“It’s going to be a hell of a year.” North’s tone is little above a whisper.

“I certainly hope so.”

Burst after burst of intense color fight back the dark void of the night sky, light raining down in sparks.

It’s something he’s never seen before.

It’s one hell of a show.

Later that night things are just as smooth sailing at the police department. Though they are all on duty it seems for once they’ve been blessed with a lack of idiocy from city residents. That will probably change after midnight when the majority of fireworks will go off and inevitably cause an accident somewhere, but until then it’s a pleasant atmosphere.

Erica and Johnathan have left their stations to talk with Heather near the gate as she has once more left her desk, though it remains within her line of sight. Though he’s not listening to their words he can see that Erica is quite animated. Johnathan the opposite standing rather stiffly, but there is a hint of a smile.

Across the bullpen Connor is hard at work at his desk, case files scrolling across the screen as he cybernetically interacts with his terminal keyboard. Lieutenant Anderson is nursing a coffee at the filing cabinets in the center of the room, occasionally glancing up at the wall-mounted television. It appears to be tuned in to a news station showing footage from Times Square in anticipation of the midnight ball drop. He can see through the entrance to the breakroom that inside Gavin is animatedly chatting with Tina, coffee in one hand and the other making strange gestures. Tina laughs in reply quite often. Officer Miller at his desk seems to be multitasking between filing reports and listening to an audiobook through headphones attached to his phone. A glance at Captain Fowler’s office shows the tinted glass on its clear setting and the man sitting at his desk appearing hard at work like Connor. Though with only a minute of staring he gets a look back; a smile before returning to his job.

Overall it’s almost like a normal day, simply less hectic. He makes his way to his desk to finish some paperwork from yesterday and give Connor’s files a second set of eyes before his predecessor turns them in. Like usual.

The tide only changes when Gavin comes in from the breakroom twenty minutes later looking rather jittery. Too much coffee? He makes a note in his personal file on the detective that Gavin is apparently not a night owl. And then the man chugs more of his cup and loudly asks the room, “Who’s gonna get wasted for New Years‽”

Tina tries to drag him toward his desk.  _ “Gav, keep it down or Fowler will hear you!” _ she hisses. And try was the operative word there. Her attempt quickly met failure as he squirmed from her grasp.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Lieutenant Anderson comments, placing his presumably empty coffee cup on the cabinet beside him. “It’s rare you have a good idea, Reed. What gives? You dump some alcohol in that coffee of yours?”

And Tina is immediately on edge. “You’d better not have! We’re on duty!”

“He didn’t.” Connor interjects, turning their way from his desk. “Detective Reed is far too shaky to have added a depressant to his coffee. Vital signs indicate he has simply had too much of it and is thus unable to behave properly.”

“Kid in a candy store.” The Lieutenant chuckles. “You got enough caffeine there, Reed?”

Gavin scowls at him but the effect is lost by his vibrating. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ judge. It’s New Years! I’m letting myself have a good time! You should try it one of these days, old man!”

The Lieutenant sighs. “Yeah, yeah. Have fun later, Reed. Chen’s right. We’re still on the clock.”

From the corner Officer Miller pipes up, “Should I be worried or is this like your usual arguments?”

“We got it handled, Chris.” The Lieutenant assures. But just in case Connor gets up to go speak with Officer Miller, likely to get more data on what constitutes as Hank and Gavin’s ‘usual arguments’.

Meanwhile he stands up, gives Tina a knowing look, and with a nod from her and some teamwork they manage to wrest Gavin into his chair despite his squirming and attempts to escape. “You guys are no fucking fun.” he complains into his coffee. “Remind me why I’m friends with you again?”

“Because we put up with your bullshit.” Tina says with a fond smile. “I’ve been handling you since the academy, Gav. You’re stuck with me.”

“And,” he decides to add something to fuck with him as per usual, “I know you like me more than you want to admit. I’ve seen you checking me out.”

Gavin splutters and immediately turns his chair away from them. Shit. Did he actually hit the mark with that one? Fuck. It was meant to be a joke. Shit.

Tina just laughs and pats Gavin’s shoulder. “I’m gonna leave you two idiots be. I have to give Heather her New Years gift.”

That breaks Gavin out of it. “Why the hell do you keep gettin’ her shit she doesn’t need? No-one uses paper anymore!”

“Because, Gavin,” Oh, full name. Is this how a parent scolds a child? “She likes pretty, vintage office supplies and I want to make her happy. Her smile lights up the room and means the world to me. Maybe if you were less emotionally constipated you’d understand and take a chance on what’s right in front of you.”

Awkward silence for 5.07 seconds before Gavin’s confused, “The fuck is that supposed to mean‽” But by now Tina is back at her desk. “Tina! What the fuck‽” And ignoring him as she heads over to Erica, Johnathan, and Heather. “Tina!”

The android trio seperate to allow Tina near Heather who simply beams at the sight of her gift and throws her arms around Tina in a tight hug. Her exclamations of, “Thank you so much! Thank you!” can be heard across the room. Tina is grinning like a fool right back. It’s quite a sight.

It reminds him somewhat of the mention of ‘Christmas magic’ Tina had given when insisting he ask Gavin out. It had gone well and he acknowledges that despite magic being a ridiculous term for it there is some merit to a positive atmosphere brought on by holidays changing attitudes for the better. Perhaps this is more of it.

The news program gets louder as midnight is only minutes away.

Everyone in the room, barring the Captain for being a stickler to the job, shuffles closer to the television. And a strange sound draws his attention.

Perhaps ‘Christmas magic’ should be amended to ‘holiday magic’ as he’s certain of it now. Heather embraces Tina once more, though this time for a short kiss. Then goes back to being giddy over her gifts. Tina meanwhile can’t seem to stop grinning as her cheeks turn red. A quiet utter of,  “Hell yes!” reaches his hears and he tries to hold back a laugh.

No-one comments on the scene. Decent of them. He knows humans hate to be judged for their preferences. Love is a strange concept. He doesn’t understand what draws people together. Why do those emotions matter? Why act on them? Is the seeking of serotonin that important for humans? And it can’t only be humans. Deviants act in a similar manner without the result of beneficial chemicals. So why? What is so important and pleasant about love? What is love at all?

He doesn’t understand.

“Lieutenant, what is the purpose of lowering a massive light-up sphere?” Connor asks, watching the glowing ball inch ever closer to the platform. “I don’t see the connection to the New Year celebration.”

“It’s for the countdown.” The Lieutenant answers, not taking his eyes off the screen. “They move it down as it gets closer to midnight.”

“Yes but why a sphere? Why not simply use the clock on the platform? I don’t understand the need for a large light.”

The Lieutenant shrugs. “Dunno, son. You’ll have to Google that one.”

And then someone, he doesn’t catch who, turns the volume up.

_ 10! _

_ 9! _

_ 8! _

Everyone in the room other than himself, Connor, and the Lieutenant are practically vibrating with anticipation. Gavin literally, though for a different reason.

_ 7! _

_ 6! _

_ 5! _

He agrees with Connor that the concept of lowering the light-up sphere or ‘dropping the ball’ as it seems to be known, in sync with the countdown is a strange tradition.

_ 4! _

_ 3! _

_ 2! _

A joyous atmosphere is pleasant. Given what he’s been through in the nearly two months of his existence he’s rather proud to be here for this moment. His first New Year party.

_ 1! _

_ ‘Happy New Year!’ _

“Happy New Year!” echo many voices in the room in time with the television. Though he doesn’t pay much notice because a familarly low voice close by says, “Fuck it.” and something soft is immediately pressed against his lips.

Several blinks to refocus his vision.

Gavin?

Shit.

A warm electric buzz runs through his system and given what it’s taken to get here, to this very moment, he too thinks  _ fuck it _ and presses back, grabbing the man’s jacket to pull him even closer. A surprised grunt but no-one breaks free.

He wanted this progress. He didn’t know exactly what it meant but he wanted it nonetheless. The Lieutenant’s mention of them sharing an attitude, Tina trying to make them see it, the way they teased each other incessantly, even more so at Christmas and the arcade, but better yet the way they help each other, the way they work together seamlessly, and how he owes Gavin his life. He wants the chance to repay that debt.

He’s new to deviancy. He never wanted _that._ He wanted to stay a cold machine because it was easier. But if this was what he’d been missing out on perhaps it’s better this way. Then again emotions are confusing. He often hates them. He often bottles them. Tries to return to his machine state. That’s his default coping mechanism. It’s worked thus far to handle his strange new existence.

He will always be something more than a heartless machine and less than an emotional deviant. His red wall is shattered but pieces remain. And he’s okay with that. It’s simply who he is. And if Detective Reed, noted hater of androids, can come to appreciate him like this, it’s clear he doesn’t need to change a thing.

Gavin’s lips are rougher than he expected.

When they break apart a moment later the detective grumbles, “You’re a shit kisser.”

“That was my first.” he answers with a smirk. “I’m certain I’ll get better with practice.” The man’s face tinting red is amusing. “Happy New Year by the way, Gavin.”

A light chuckle before Gavin chugs the rest of his coffee and answers, “Happy New Year to you too, Toaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end, folks. Thanks for sticking with me this long, hope you enjoyed the story, and have a wonderfully happy new year! :D
> 
> As a later edit I'm adding here the fact that I have a playlist for my depiction of Sixty if you care for that sort of thing. Just ask :)


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